Batman: Armistice
by Pierce767
Summary: The thrilling conclusion to the tale of The Bat of Gotham! After the Joker escapes his execution, Bruce places the key witness, Harley Quinn under his personal protection in the hopes of steering her to good while ending his foe once and for all. But the madness loosed upon the world has grown darker, stranger, and threatens to swallow the world in its wrath...
1. Chapter 1

Batman: Armistice

Chapter One

"All Rise!"

The judge's voice echoed through the Gotham City courtroom number three, which was at that moment packed to capacity. The motes of dust shimmering like flecks of drifting gold in the sunlight fell unnoticed upon the silent throng, and the ancient stone angels that hung suspended from the mighty pillars that surrounded the vaulted room seemed to watch with an eerie detachment that stood in stark contrast to the mood of the people below. There was an air of breathless expectation that no one could fail to notice, and there wasn't a doubt in a single mind as to the reason for this pervasive energy. Today was a special day, a day that would surely live on in the memories of Gotham's people forever.

Today, the infamous madman known as the joker was once again to be sentenced for his heinous crimes against the people of the city. Only this time, the rumors said that he wouldn't be heading for the Asylum. The people had finally had enough, and upon sentencing he would be heading straight for the gallows; and there was no shortage of people who wanted to see him swing.

The trial had been a shockingly short one, only dragging on for three days and all within the same week. But there had been little point in dragging out the proceedings as the evidence against him was so damning that not even Lot could have negotiated a stay of the reaper's blade.

As the audience rose obediently to it's feet, so did the powerful, bald-headed man sitting at the front right desk. That man was Attorney at law Harvey Dent, and today he was wrapping up his role as prosecutor in what he had little doubt was the most important case of his irregular career; and the tightly packed mass around him only served to drive this point home. After featuring the testimony of a few key witnesses, which had even included the billionaire Bruce Wayne and police chief Gordon's daughter, he had been forced to essentially draw lots to determine who would be called to testify against the Joker. Literally scores of people had flooded his office, and there was simply no way they could all be worked in. Still, as long as the clown hung, he doubted they cared much.

"We are gathered here today to hear a conclusion to case number G972443J, or 'The People of Gotham vs The Joker'. But before we move on to the sentencing, we have one more key witness for the jury to hear."  
"Oooooh, is it the Bats again?! I wanna see him sitting in the box like a normal fruitcake again! The contrast was simply _precious_!"  
Dent rolled his eyes in disgust and glanced over at the pale, drooling lunatic just a few feet away from him. The Joker was definitely looking a bit the worse for wear, covered in bruises and scabbed over cuts, his hair a disheveled green mop perched upon his skull-white brow. Batman had indeed testified, and even Dent had to admit that seeing The Bat of Gotham sitting in a witness box and giving testimony like a regular citizen had been strikingly odd, and a little uncomfortable. With an amused snort, it occurred to him that the man had actually testified twice, once as the vigilante Batman and again as Bruce Wayne. The perks of having an alter ego, and Harvey Dent was one of the few people who knew the connection between the two. He and Bruce Wayne had actually been good friends before...

Dent was vaguely aware of the judge's gavel pounding in a primal call to order as his left hand rose to his scarred left cheek. Scarred, but no longer the horror that had marked his decent into the dark abyss of crime and madness after that scumbag Maroni had thrown acid in his face in this very building, just two rooms over. Though his face had been repaired by Thomas Elliot and his psyche healed as well, it had been a tough road to reclaim even a semblance of his former life. He couldn't help but suspect that him being handed such an important case by the district was either Commissioner Gordon or Bruce throwing him a bone. Honestly, it could have been both.

"Sit down and shut up you damn nutter." The Joker's lawyer muttered in disgust. Dent chuckled. The guy hadn't even _attempted_ to put up a fight for his client, and frankly no one blamed him. It would have been an utterly hopeless effort; and frankly Dent suspected that the man wanted to see the Clown dead as much as everyone else in the room. Even _he_ wanted the Joker to hang, and he had once been a criminal mastermind like him.  
'No,' Dent thought. 'No matter how bad I was, even at my absolute lowest, I was _never_ like him. That man is an animal, a rabid dog that needs to be put down.'

"Is the prosecution ready to bring in their final witness?" The judge asked.  
"We are your honor." Dent replied respectfully "The prosecution calls Dr. Harleen Quinzel to the stand!"  
" _Harley?!"_ the Joker asked incredulously, the grin wiped from his face as he turned with the rest of the crowd to the rear of the courtroom. The thick oak doors opened wide, revealing a strong-looking orderly in a white coat pushing a wheelchair. And in the wheelchair sat the frail, broken form of Harley Quinn.


	2. Chapter 2

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Two**

Harley gulped and almost choked, her throat tightening like a vice. Her eyes darted nervously around the courtroom and her right hand, the only one not currently in a cast, spasmed frantically. She was suddenly sure that she couldn't go through with this. Having all these eyes on her was bad enough, but knowing what she was about to do...

Then she saw her lawyer, Harvey Dent, smiling reassuringly at her from the end of the isle, and she fought to get her breathing under control. 'Pull it together Harley,' she thought as her breathing slowed. She had no doubt that she was about to do the hardest thing she had ever done in her life. But she new she had to take a stand against him, even though the very concept of 'taking a stand' reminded her of the bitter reality that standing again _at all_ seemed like a far off dream. She had to, or she knew in her heart that she would never be able to-

"Hey Harley, lookin' tasty!" Came a call from the left side of the isle. Harley's guts twisted in horror. She knew that voice almost as well as her own. Her Puddn', Mr, J. No no no no, she wasn't ready for this, they promised he wouldn't be here oh God why...

"You're a regular _meal on wheels!"_ The Joker continued before howling with laughter.

"You-gah!" Harley began to shout back and tried twist in her chair, before falling back and crying out in agony. The broken bones dug into her flesh like serrated knives, and even the small amount of movement permitted by her back and neck braces resulted in torturous agony. A helpless cripple, Harley began to weep like a child. 'I'm so goddamn broken.' she thought. Body and soul, she felt like nothing but a shattered shell of a human being. In that moment, like so many in recent days, she wanted nothing more than to simply curl up and die. 'Even crying hurts.' She thought bitterly. 'Oh God, it all hurts so bad. I want to die, just let me die die die-'

"Harley." She looked upwards toward the source of the strong voice that called her name. It was Dent. He had left his chair to come comfort her, to reassure her. It wasn't enough.

"I'm sorry, I tried to have him banned from the courtroom, but there was nothing I could-"

"I can't do this." She whispered, cutting him short as tears streamed painfully from her swollen, bruised eyes. "I'm not ready, I shouldn't be here, I'm a monstah just like him, I-"

"Harley." He repeated, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Remember what Batman said to you?" She nodded. "If Dent can turn ovuh a new leaf..."

"Anyone can. Even you.". He finished. "You're not like him Harley, and you _can_ do this. I believe in you, and so does he. Now get up there, and finish this. Free yourself."

Harley nodded and gingerly wiped her nose and eyes, wincing as she did so. "You're right." She said. "I got this."

Dent smiled down and the poor, bald and bandaged waif and gently squeezed her shoulder before turning away and returning to his seat. Harley drew a shuddering breath as the attendant pushed her farther down the isle. Every foot seemed like a mile, and she silently thanked whatever Gods there were that she didn't have to walk the distance. "All I have to do" she thought as she was wheeled into the booth, "Is talk".

* * *

In the back of the courtroom, Bruce Wayne sat quaking with barley contained rage. 'That sick bastard' he thought in disgust as the echoes of the Jokers taunt bounced around the room.

"You-gah!" Harley began to shout back before a cry of pain cut her short. She started to weep; a lost, pitiful sound that filled the room and broke his heart. There had been many tears in that courtroom throughout the trial as a seemingly endless parade of witnessed at recounted the details of their shattered lives, but none had touched him like the cries he heard now, from the last person in the world who should have had to suffer from that madman. He started to his feet almost instinctively, but felt a gentle hand holding him back.

"It's alright," Alfred whispered gently to him. "Look." Alfred pointed down the isle at what Bruce had already noticed: Harvey Dent had risen from his chair and come to comfort his client. After whispering to her for a moment, Harley nodded and dried her eyes. Dent returned to his seat, and the attendant continued down the hall. Satisfied but still on edge, Bruce settled back into his chair, releasing some of his tension with a heavy sigh as he ran his fingers through his graying hair.

"I never knew Alfred." He said softly, his heart like lead in his chest. "I never understood until that night just how bad things were for her. How... God Alfred, what do you even say to something like that?"

"What you already did." Alfred muttered in return. "She was a dangerous woman, and that made it easy to see her as just another maniac like the Joker. In retrospect though, that couldn't have been farther from the truth. She was more like a sad, lost puppy trying to please an abusive master. And now that devotion has nearly killed her. In the end, she was just another victim of his. Perhaps his most tortured victim."

"Damn him." Bruce cursed through gritted teeth, his voice filled with hatred. "For Jason, for Barbra, for her... For everything he's done. Damn him to everlasting hell."

Alfred grimly nodded his assent. "Indeed Master Bruce. Indeed."

Bruce turned his full attention back to the front of the courtroom, and watched with a hint of pride as Harley Quinn took the stand. 'You get him,' Bruce thought. 'You end that bastard, once and for all.'

* * *

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God?" Dent asked Harley as she placed a trembling hand on the antique black bible placed before her.

"I do." She stated with a firmness that surprised herself.

"Please state your name for the record" Dent asked her after withdrawing the bible and placing on his desk.

"Dr. Harleen Frances Quinzel" She answered, her voice still clear and strong.

"And Dr. Quinzel, do you have a preferred name that you would like me to address you by?"

"Yes," she affirmed with a nod. "Harley Quinn"

"Very well Ms. Quinn." Dent said. "Now you have been in this courthouse before, haven't you?"

"I have" she replied in a monotone, hoping to cover up the sick feeling that was spreading through her guts. She knew all of this was coming of course, she and Dent had discussed it all well in advance. But still, the thought of recounting the horrible things she had done was nearly unbearable.

"And although there were numerous charges leveled against you at that time, what were the primary charges leveled against you?"

Harley swallowed painfully, and answered with a voice that she had clearly dredged up with great difficulty. "Seventeen counts of murdah, two of em' just bystandas. The rest were thugs."

"And it was those two that you were convicted on, isn't that correct?"

"Yeah." She said in a dead voice.

"And it was then that you were sentenced to indefinite therapy at the Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane, is that correct?" Harley nodded in confirmation. "Let the record reflect that Ms. Quinn acknowledges her past crimes and the resulting convictions." Dent announced the the transcribers that were typing furiously on the sidelines. "And in regards to your stay at the Asylum, were you released from their care?"

She shook her head. "Nah, I busted outta there."

"And how may I ask did you manage that?" Dent inquired in mock surprise.

"Red busted me out." Harley shot back with the barest hint of a smile.

"And by 'Red', you are referring to the infamous eco-terrorist Pamela Isley, also known as 'Poison Ivy', is that right?" Dent asked, already knowing that answer. After all, he'd heard Harley call her that a number of times. But this was, after all, a show for the courtroom, and certainly not for his benefit.

"Yeah, that's Red." Harley said, nodding again. "She sure loves her weeds."

"So the person who rescued you from your imprisonment, just though it may have been, was _not_ the man sitting over here?" Dent continued, turning as he did so to indicate the mad, disheveled clown in at the defendant's table. Up until this point, Harley had resolutely avoided looking at the Joker, but now there was little avoiding it.

He was roguishly handsome as ever, despite his unkempt hair and and injuries. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in his battered visage: His emerald-green eyes blackened and still slightly swollen, his long, chiseled chin looked broken and his porcelain skin was marred with dark bruises and a long, deep gash across his cheek. A hurricane of feelings battled within her, and she felt as though she would be torn apart by them. Grief, anger, love, pity and regret all seemed to be vying for control of her heart, each one hitting her like the blows that were all too fresh in her mind and flesh. She hated to see him hurt, even after all he had done to her. She wanted to hold him in her arms and comfort him, even knowing that such an action would surely result in another beating, and she hated herself for it.

Harley slowly her head, tears standing in her eyes. "No... No, he just left me there ta rot."

"And can you identify the defendant?" Came yet another obvious question from Dent. She knew why he was doing it of course, facts had to be established for the case. But it still seemed... So pointless. So needlessly hurtful. As breathed deeply and prepared herself for the torture to come.

"Mistah J." She said, her voice trembling as the tears began once more to pour down her face. "My Puddn'. The man I love."

"So your relationship with the defendant was of a romantic nature? Was he your boyfriend? Your lover? Your husband?" Dent asked, his face a visage of self disgust for needing to ask such obviously painful questions.

"I-I-I dunno!" Harley wailed in grief. "I w-wanted ta, ya know? I wanted ta... Ta give myself ta him. Ta be his girl, even if I knew he'd nevah marry me. But whenever I tried ta , he'd ignore me a-a-and... If I kept try'n, he'd beat me. But then at least he'd b-be t-t-t-touching me!"

Harley dissolved into tears at that point, the psychologist in her acutely aware of how sick and twisted what she had just said was, and the woman in her knowing it didn't matter, that the awful reality she had just confessed to was the absolute truth. Dent handed her a tissue, his eyes brimming with pity.

"It's alright." He said softly. "Take your time."

Harley gratefully accepted the token and, after a few minuets of sniffling, felt herself able to continue. She set the spent tissue down and nodded to Dent, telling him that she was ready to continue.

"Ms. Quinn, could you please explain to the court why, if you love this man so much, you are here testifying against him today?" Harley's heard plummeted at the question. There it was: She was there to betray the man she loved, possibly to send him to his death. Once again, she felt as though the torrent of emotions withing her would tear her asunder. Bet she knew what she had to do. It was time for the truth. Time for redemption.

"H-he _did this ta me!"_ She wailed, retrieving the already spent tissue a and bringing it once again to her eyes. "I trusted him, I loved him... I still do, and I know I'll neva forgive myself for this, but I just can't keep livin' like this! I'll always love Mistah J., but if I stay with him, I just know he's gonna kill me! Not that I wouldn't deserve it..." She concluded miserably.

"Please, tell the court your story, how this happened to you. And feel free to take your time, we'll wait." Dent offered in a soft voice. Harley laid her head back, closing her eyes and doing her best to regain her composure. After a moment of rapid blinking, she brought her head level again and gazed resolutely forward, her eyes now bloodshot, yet determined. And then, she began to speak.


	3. Chapter 3

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Three**

Ten Days Previously

Harley Quinn was bored.

Sure, you would think the fact that she had Batman chained upside down over a tank of ravenous piranhas would be enough to keep the heart rate up, but the guy had been out for over two hours and that was a long time to be excited about anything. Well, anything except for her Puddn' that was.

She smiled dreamily, her face propped up between her hands as she indulged in a blissful daydream about the days to come. Finally, Mr. J. would see that she was good enough to be his partner, his lover, maybe his bride...

"Yeah, that's it." She muttered happily. She could see it now: Her Harlequin outfit thrown out and forgotten like the trash it was... Her and Mr. J. standing before a priest dressed up like Elvis at some ritzy chapel in Vegas, her in a cute white mini-dress with a long, white vale and a tiara of white roses, and Mr. J. looking stunningly handsome in a fine plum suit of crushed velvet with a white rose in place of his usual acid flower, one that matched the flowers that rested upon her brow. After they said their "I do's" she would throw herself into his arms and he spin her around with joy, the hall ringing with their joyful peals of laughter before he kissed her deeply like she had always dreamed he would someday.

"I bet he tastes like peppermint" she said dreamily. Of course, she knew that this could never happen with the Batman constantly hunting her man like he was some kind of animal. Had he ever tried to talk to the Joker, ever made any effort to know him like she had? No, he just hounded and tortured her Angel until the poor man couldn't think of anything but being free of his tormentor. There simply wasn't room for anything or anyone else, not even her... 'But that all changes tonight' she thought ecstatically.

With Batman out of the way, Mr. J. would be at peace. They could run away, leaving the world and all its darkness and pain behind and be happy, just the two of them. Sure, it wouldn't be perfect, and she had no illusions about the fact that it would take time for him to get over his issues. But she would have her man and he would have a gal who would make him laugh and smile every day. Really, who could ask for anything more than that?

She glanced up at Batman, and grimaced in annoyance when she saw that he was still out cold. Maybe she shouldn't have shot him up with so much tranquilizer, but on the other hand even _that_ high dosage had taken several second to kick in after she shot him in the back, and he _had_ almost throttled her in that time, so this was likely for the best.

She rubbed her neck, vividly remembering the pain of his strong hand choking the life out of her, the image of his teeth clenched in rage at her betrayal as the sun set behind them on the dock she had lured him to. Honestly, what a jerk. Sure, her Puddn' hit her too, but only when she deserved it, though that was often. After all, she knew how easily he could be angered, and how little room in his life he had for intimacy. So when she got brazen and pushed his buttons she really was asking for it. She knew the risks, rolled the dice and came up snake eyes. That's just how life went.

Batman, on the other hand, should have seen that shot coming from a mile away, she mused as she sipped her soda. After all, she would _never_ betray her Puddn', just like he would never betray her. It was Mr. J. and Harley forever, and nothing could ever change that.

A groan from above caused her ears to perk up, and a quick upwards glance failed to disappoint. He was finally waking up.

"Ugh, Quinn..." Batman groaned as he shook his head, likely trying to clear the fog from his mind. ' Fat chance' she thought vindictively. 'Not with the kind of dose I gave ya.'

"Oh, you're awake finally!" She exclaimed, her face splitting into an enormous grin.

"The Joker... Where..." Batman said, squeezing his eyes shut against what must have been a headache of biblical proportions.

Harley stood, proudly smirking at her captive. "It's just me B-Man" She announced. "No Joker, no gas bombs, no city in peril... Just you, that tank and me."

" _Why?"_ Batman asked, his confusion making it through even his electronically modified voice and showing just how utterly bewildered he was at this strange turn of events.

'Why? Seriously?' Harley thought. If he really didn't know, then he didn't deserve a full editorial. The readers digest version would be enough. Which was fine for her, she was actually in such a good mood now that bubbling about her stroke of genius was enough.

"Ta show Mistah J. that I can pull off one of his plans!" She exclaimed happily. She knelt down, admiring the cutely fearsome fish that hung just a few feet from Batman's head.

"Ya see, he could nevah get these fishies ta smile, but then _I_ had the bright idea of hanging the victim-" She stood and faced her captive "That's you" she said, pointing at Batman's stoic face for emphasis "-Upside down. That way, ta you, it'll look like they're smiling!" She hoisted herself up on the railing, bringing her smiling face inches from Batman's. "Clevah?" She asked with almost childlike enthusiasm.

"Brilliant." Batman replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. She frowned in annoyance and backed away from the man who _clearly_ did not appreciate her unique perspective. Then she turned and walked away, waving a dismissive hand.

"Yeah yeah, I can tell yer less than thrilled." she grumbled as she marched towards the winch that was keeping her Angel's nemesis suspended above his imminent 'death of a hundred smiles'. Suddenly, she faltered in her steps, feeling a twinge of regret. The truth was, she had never really liked killing people and had been trying to kick the habit in an effort to set a good example for her man. But if killing the B-Man was what it took to finally get the life that she and her True Love deserved, then it was a price she was more than willing to pay.

Still, even if she generally hated the man, there _had_ been some fun, crazy times that they had shared, even if it _was_ as enemies. Killing him felt like the closing of a book, or at least a chapter, of her life. And there was something just a little sad in that. She turned to face him with an expression that bordered on pity.

"Ya know, for what it's worth, I actually enjoyed some of our romps." She confessed before moving onward to her goal. She gripped the winch's handle firmly as she continued. "But there comes a time when a gal wants more. And all this gal wants is to settle down with her lovin' Sweetheart." She finished, a dreamy smile floating once more across her tender features.

" _You_ and the _Joker_?" Batman asked incredulously, as if it was _so_ hard to believe that a gal like her could fall for such a strapping rogue!

"Right-o-rounie!" She replied, still staring blissfully into space. A cold, unexpected sound from behind her snapped her out of her reverie. She turned to see the Batman _laughing_ of all things! And it wasn't a happy laugh either... But rather a dark, humorless sound that sent ice-cold shivers down her spine. The last laugh of a dying man at what he saw as the final, ultimate perversion. It made her cringe to hear such a hollow sound.

"I've nevah seen you laugh before... I don't think I like it." Harley said, a hint of fear creeping into her voice. This only seemed to egg him on, and soon the whole room was filled with that damnable, soulless sound.

"Cut it out!" Harley cried as she wrapped her arms around herself and shrank away from the maniacal devil. "Yer givin' me the creeps!"

"You little fool." Batman shot at her, his deep, powerful voice making the insult sound like a pronouncement of doom upon his captor. "The Joker doesn't love anything but _himself_. _Wake up Harleen!_ He had you pegged for a hired help the moment that you walked into Arkham."

Harley stood gaping at the Batman, stunned that he would have the audacity to level such an insidious implication at her about her Lover.

"No, that's... That's not true..." She stammered. "No..." She repeated, her feelings of shock and doubt turning into rage. How dare he? How _dare he?!_ After all that she and Mr. J. had suffered at his hands, to imply that somehow it was _them_ that were the villains? That it was _Mr. J.?_ Who did this self-righteous son-of-a-bitch think he was?!

" _No!"_ she shrieked in defiance, her fists clenched at her sides in rage. "He told me things! Secret things that he never told _anyone_ else!"

"Was it his line about the abusive father?" Batman asked, his voice twinged with amusement. Harley's eyes widened in shock. How could he _possibly_ know about that? Mr. J. had sworn that he had never told anyone else...

"Or the one about the runaway mom? He's gained a _lot_ of sympathy with that one." He continued, not giving her a chance to breathe. Harley felt sick to her stomach. Mr. J. had told her that one too, and she had wept for hours at the thought of that poor boy, left alone by his mother only to be beaten by the only family he had left.

"Stop it!" She wailed, placing her hands over her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the words that were so efficiently destroying the foundations of her life. She refused to hear any more, she couldn't _bear_ to hear any more. "You're making me confused!"

"What was it he told that one parole officer?" Batman plunged on relentlessly. "Oh yes: 'There was only one time I ever saw Dad really happy..."

Harley's hands fell limply from her ears as she stared in abject horror at her tormentor, feeling like she had just been punched in the gut. 'Dear God no, not that...' she thought in utter despair. The single, most precious and personal thing he had ever shared with her. To think that that tale, that sacred moment of trust in her could be a lie...

"He took me to the ice show when I was seven-"

"Circus" Harley cut in, her voice trembling with grief as tears carved tracks of sorrow in her makeup. She turned away in shame, no longer able to bear the gaze of the man who had ruined her life. "He said it was the circus."

"He's got a million of them Harley." Batman said, his voice now tender and full of sympathy.

"You're _w-wrong!"_ Harley screamed as as she roughly wiped her tears away, smearing her makeup even worse. She couldn't believe it. She _wouldn't_ believe it. She'd rather die. "My Puddn' _does_ love me, _he does_!" She turned back to face the man, no, the _monster_ that was trying so hard to destroy all that she loved in this world. " _You're_ the problem!" She shouted, pointing a condemning finger. She quickly pivoted away and rushed to the winch. 'This ends now!' she thought, no longer sure if what she was feeling was rage or despair as she grasped the chain in her trembling hands.

"And now your gonna die and make everything right!" She exclaimed shrilly, her face now twisted into a maniacal grin. She began to cackle as she lowered Batman towards the water slowly by hand. Dunking him in fast would be too merciful. She wanted him to _suffer_.

"Except he'll never believe you did it." Batman stated calmly.

Harley froze mid motion, halting Batman's decent into certain death. "Huh? Sure he will." She said, thoroughly taken aback.

"Think about it, how's the Joker going to know I'm really gone?" Batman asked. "All those fish will leave are scraps of bone and cloth, _anyone_ can fake that!"

Harley's face contorted in confusion. He was bluffing, that was obvious. Stalling for time, hoping for a chance to escape. That suit of his was Kevlar, that's why she had needed to shoot the syringe into him rather than just jab him. The fish would have to eat his face and carve their way down through his throat, there was simply _no way_ they could destroy that suit... Right? She felt sure that this was the case but if she was wrong and they _did_ somehow manage...

Doubt began to gnaw away at her like a hungry animal. 'If the suit _were_ destroyed, it might not be a total loss', she thought as she glanced reflexively at Batman's belt, which was resting just a few feet away.

"True, you've got my belt." Batman continued, clearly picking up on her train of thought. "But it's not the same as a body. He'll _never_ buy it."

Harley began to glance frantically between Batman, the belt and the chain she was holding. He was manipulating her. This was a trick. But if he was right, it would all be for nothing. Mr. J. would never find peace, they would never be able to run away together and start a family, none of her hopes and dreams would come to pass. And even if they _did_ run away together, her man would live forever looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open, wondering if today was the day that the Batman would come and rob him of everything. And that was a risk she simply couldn't afford to take, especially when it would all be so easy to avoid.

She smiled grimly and turned back to her captive audience. "Well then, there's an easy way ta fix this." She said smugly, before walking over to the table and dialing her sweetheart. The phone began to ring... And ring, and ring... Harley started to worry that he might not even be home and was wracking her brain for a backup plan when she suddenly heard the happy 'click' she had been waiting for. He _was_ there, it was all going to be-

" _What?!"_ Came the furious shout from the other end of the phone, loud enough to make Harley wince. 'That's Mr. J alright; and it sounds like he's already in one of his moods.' Harley though worriedly. But that was alright, she was sure that her news would brighten up his night in no time flat.

"Uh, it's me Puddn'." Harley timidly replied.

"Harley? Where the heck have you been?" The Joker asked.

"I'm ovah at the old Aquacade building. You know, the one with all the big fish tanks?" She said, beginning to feel excitement welling up inside her again. 'He's gonna be so impressed with me!' she thought happily.

"Oh yeah, uh-hu." He said, already sounding distant and distracted again.

"Yeah, well I got Batman chained up here ovah a tank of _really_ hungry fish!" She announced proudly.

"The batman huh?" Harley barely heard the Joker's reply over the sound of more rustling papers. He was clearly busy, and she just as clearly wasn't getting though to him.

"Yeah, the _Batman._ Here, _in chains_. Ready ta be _fish food_." She stressed, hoping to make a dent this time.

"Oh, you don't say... Wait! You've got _who_ tied up _where?!"_ The Joker shouted back through the line. Harley's face lit up with a smile to rival that of her Sweetie. 'Took him long enough, but at least I got through!' she thought in glee. And she really shouldn't have expected any different. After all she rarely said anything worth listening to, so ignoring her was pretty much par for the course.

"I've got B-Man tied up here at the Old Aquacade building." She confirmed.

"Don't move a _millimeter_ , I'm on my way!" He commanded her before slamming the phone down on the receiver. Harley hung up as well, then strutted over to the tank and the poor sod hanging above it.

"Well nuts to you Mistah Smarty-Bat!" She crowed in triumph. "When I told Mistah J. what I was doin', he he was _so thrilled_ he could hardly speak!"

"It didn't sound like he had much trouble from here." Batman said sardonically. "Obviously I don't know where you two are holed up, but I'm guessing that it won't take him too long to get here."

"Ya got that right Batty-Man!" Harley smugly shot back. "He'll be burnin' rubber all the way here; then my Suggah and I are gonna hold each other tight and watch you get _eaten alive!_ Not the most _romantic_ date evah, but it'll do in a pinch."

Batman rolled his eyes and groaned at that last, eliciting a quick giggle from Harley. It was almost a shame to kill him, she mused. His humor was a bit on the dry side, but even he could be funny at times.

"Harleen, I need you to listen closely to what I'm about to say to you." Harley's eyes bulged at the man's audacity. Just where in the hell did _he_ get off calling her by his first name?!

"You're going to kill me tonight." He stated in a chillingly matter-of-fact manner. "There's nothing I can do to stop that now. All I ask is that you consider my last request... A final wish from a dying man."

'So... That's it? He's just gonna say his last words and die, just like that?' Harley thought. This was about as far from what she expected out of the Batman as things could possibly get.

"Alright, I'm listening." She cautiously agreed. "Spill it."

"After I'm gone, I want you to take a break from things with the Joker and go get some therapy. Give it at least a few months, I doubt he'll even notice. And if, after you get some help, your outlook has changed, I want you to leave him forever."

Harley was flabbergasted. "How... How could _ya ask such a thing_? That's _seriously_ your last request?! That I _dump my man?!"_

"Pretty much, yeah." Batman confirmed.

Her head was spinning in shock. Here was the Batman, her Puddn's arch nemesis, mere _inches_ away from certain death! And yet, he'd barely made a move this whole time to try and save himself! All he had done was tried to break her and the Joker up and expressed _concern_ for _her! Why?!_ Was it some sick way to get back at the Joker through her? It had to be some kind of trick, but she was having a helluva hard time figuring out what exactly his angle was.

"Y-you're _insane!"_ She cried. "Totally coo-coo fer cocoa puffs, and I know coo-cco!" In response, Batman simply hung there, silent and unflinching against her tirade, which just served to get her even more worked up.

"Seriously, what's ya fricken' problem?! I'm about to _murdah ya!_ Why would you even _care_ what happens to me?!"

"Because Harleen" Batman replied, his voice filled with strength and conviction "In spite of everything, I believe that you are a good person, right down to the bottom of your soul." When this statement was met with nothing but stunned silence, he took the opening and continued. "You have a good heart, so good in fact that even all the awful things you've done with the Joker hasn't managed to ruin it. Everything you have done tonight proves it! There is nothing you won't do to help and protect the people you care about. After all, you risked your life to pull this off, and that kind of unconditional love is what pure hearts are made of. Yes, I'm well aware of the fact that the real reason you did this was to help the Joker, but I'll tell you something right now: You deserve better than him. You deserve someone who can love you the way you love them. The way you love the Joker now."

Harley shook her head in amazement. No funeral requests, no last message to a loved one. No pleading for his life. Instead, this man who should have hated her was using his final moments to plead for _her_ life rather than his.

"If you'll at least consider this, then I can die in peace." He concluded with a simple sincerity that touched her more than she would ever be willing to admit to anyone, least of all him. She shook her head again in rejection. No matter how selfless his request might really be, she could never consider such a thing.

"I'm sorry B-man, but I could nevah do that." She told him, to which he sighed sadly. "You know I couldn't cross my man like that. I love him and he loves me, and that's how it's always gonna be. We're gonna run away togethah, get hitched and have lots'a cute kids! It's gonna be Harley and Mistah J. forevah!"

"I doubt the Joker is even remotely interested in any kind of 'domestic bliss'" Batman stated dryly. His eyes suddenly flicked sideways, looking past her to the door behind her. Then she heard it: footsteps quickly approaching the door. 'It's gotta be Mr. J!' she thought ecstatically.

"But I'm sure you'll learn that soon enough..." Batman muttered, his voice fading away as she turned her back on him and rushed to greet her lover.

The doors flung open with a thunderous crash and there, silhouetted against the harsh lights of the hall, stood the man she loved. The Joker. And to her, he had never looked more handsome than he did in that moment: His deep green hair swept back into a pair of tails that rose above his noble brow like horns, his powerful neck throbbing with the exertion of his hasty ascent, his eyes like flecks of blue ice gazing back into hers.

"Harley?!" The Joker called out, striding quickly to meet her.

Harley's heart leapt into her throat. Besides the first time she had stood before him as Harley Quinn while breaking him out of Arkham Asylum, felt more proud to stand before him, never felt more like the woman who deserved to be his and his alone.

"Hey Puddn'!" She cried in joy as she rushed forward, arms outstretched to embrace him. "You're just in time to see the-"

 **CRACK**

The world dissolved into blinding pain as the Joker backhanded her with all his might, shattering her nose and sending her sprawling to the floor in a spray of bright blood. Harley blinked repeatedly, trying to clear her of the painful tears that clouded them. She didn't understand, she was so sure that he would be happy with her... What had she done wrong?

From her point of view on the ground, she saw the Joker approach a Batman who looked every bit as shocked and horrified as her. Clearly, whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't this.

"Would you excuse me for a moment?" The Joker politely asked his gaping foe. "I'll be just a minuet." He then rounded on Harley, who was struggling to lift herself from the floor.

"B-but Puddn', I don't understand!" She protested. This was wrong, all wrong! "Don't you _want_ to finally get rid of Batman?"

"Only if I do it, idiot!" He screamed at her, emphasizing his displeasure with a bone-shattering punch to the cheek. Blood shot from her mouth and stained the ground next to her last puddle. After a moment of dizziness, Harley frantically reached inside her suit and pulled out the crudely drawn schematic that had been the source of the whole plot, one of the Joker's own.

"But it's still your plan, ya see? She said, holding the paper up like a shield, hoping against hope to calm him down. "It's everything just like you said! Except _I_ hung the guy upside down so he'd see their little frowns as little smiles! Now it all works!"

The Joker stared at the the paper for a moment, seemingly entranced by it. Harley breathed a sigh of relief. Then she saw his face cloud with fury once more. He leaned over and tore the paper from her hands, shouting as he did.

"Except you had to _explain_ it to me! If you have to explain a joke, there _is no joke_!" With that he tore the paper apart and started walking slowly towards her, his eyes filled with a dark emotion that she had never seen there before... At least, not directed at her. Only when he spoke about Batman did he look like that.

'Hate' she thought in terror as she scrambled away from him. 'That's what that look is. Mr. J. _hates_ me. He hates _me.'_

"Forget about her!" She heard the Batman calling from behind her Lover. "I'm the one you want, and I'm right here!"

Harley staggered to her feet and grabbed the nearest thing she could find that even remotely resembled a weapon: An old Swordfish that had been hung on the nearby wall. Frantically, she pointed it at her Puddn, paradoxically scaring herself even more than his violence had scared her.

"N-now c-c-calm down Puddn'..." She stuttered in blind terror as she continued to slowly back away from him. His eyes widened in disbelief at the idea that she would _dare_ to threaten _him_. Then, they narrowed into predatory slits. In a flash, he darted forward and knocked the point of the fish aside before aiming a swift kick at the side of her knee. The kick missed, striking her instead in the inner calf and snapping it like a dry twig, the jagged lower end tearing through flesh and skin to protrude out through her tights.

Harley screamed in agony as she collapsed again, clutching her ruined leg as the hot blood soaked her pants and gloves and gushed out onto the ground.

"Leave her alone!" Batman bellowed furiously. But the joker didn't even seem to notice.

"You've forgotten what I told you a long time ago..." He said, his voice laced now with a sick sort of maniacal glee. All thought fled from Harley Quinn's mind, replaced by the blind, animistic need to survive. She tried to get up on her hands and her one good leg, only to be sent flying by a mighty kick to her stomach. She felt her ribs crack and something rupture inside her as she sailed though the air before coming to a bone-crunching halt against the building's outer wall.

With no breath, she couldn't even give voice to her suffering. She tried to breathe in, but the pain kept her body locked so tightly that all she could do was choke and shudder, until she cleared her throat by spitting out a wad of blood.

"One of the painful truths of comedy..." The Joker continued as he stalked her, his face now twisted into a hideous, bloodthirsty grin.

"I'm right here!" Batman almost screamed, struggling against his chains. "I'm the one you want! Come for _me_! Kill _me_!"

'Kill...' Harley thought deliriously. 'That's what's happening. Mr. J. is killing me. I'm dying...' She felt firm hand grasp her hair and drag her upwards. Her hands few up as she weakly whimpered in protest before her head was slammed into the wall. Her vision flickered in and out as her head filled with pain so all-encompassing that it seemed as though her skull had been packed tightly fully of molten lead. Then it happened again, the sound of her skull bouncing off the stone filling her ears. It was simply too much. The grief, the pain. All she wanted to do was sleep...

The joker dropped her limp body to the ground before reaching down and seizing her by the throat. As she was lifted, choking and wheezing into the air, she was dimly aware of the play of the lights on her Puddn' face, and realized that her back was to the window. They were six stories up. If he threw her, she'd never survive the fall. 'So this is how it ends' she thought.

"You're always taking shots from people who _just don't get the joke!"_ The Joker cried, finishing his rant as his hand tightened around her throat, crushing her airway closed.

"Oh God..."Batman exclaimed in growing horror as he realized the Joker's intention. "No, _don't do it Joker! Let her go!"_

"P-Puddn'..." Harley whispered as she slowly raised her arm and reached towards the face of the man she had loved with all her soul. Inch by inch it crept forward, feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. Her eyes convulsively started to roll back into her head, making it difficult to see the face she so desperately wished to touch. The face of her Love... The man she had laughed with, cried with, risked death with more times than she could count. The man she had watched while he slept, comforted in his grief, dreamed of marrying and raising children with. She had given everything up for him, he was her whole life now. And now, her life was about to end.

The Joker's face crinkled up in disgust, and with an almighty heave he threw her away from him and through the window. She felt the glass break against her back, heard it shatter and felt the frigid wind rush past her as she flew out into the night and downward to her doom.

" _No!"_ She heard the Batman scream from above, his voice fading away into the night as she fell through the cold darkness. 'What a funny guy' she mused. She was suddenly reminded of her father. 'Poor Daddy' she thought miserably. 'He'd be so disappointed if he could see me now.' He'd always loved her, protected her, sacrificed so much for her. He'd had such high hopes for her, and had raised her to see the best in people and to look for a good and upstanding guy to love. She hadn't spoken to him since she had run away with he Joker, and she suddenly found herself hoping that he never learned what had happened to his little girl. Better that he think that she was an ungrateful bitch than to learn that his precious baby had died in a gutter, murdered by a man that he would have been ashamed to see her with.

'If only-' she thought, but her thought was cut short as she crashed into a trash heap sixty feet from where she had started. She vaguely wondered what kind of trash she had fallen into, but she couldn't tell from feeling. In fact, she couldn't feel anything at all except pain. Agony was her entire existence.

'God must _really_ hate me.' She thought. 'I'm still awake. I'm still alive... How did it come to this? How did my life become such a mess?' She had asked herself that same question mere hours earlier, and had blamed the Batman. But no, it wasn't his fault, it never had been. It was her. Her foolish choices, her ignorance, her naivete. It wasn't even Batman that killed her, it was Mr. J. But even as she felt the darkness rise to mercifully claim her, she couldn't bring herself to blame her Angel.

"My fault..." She whispered. "I didn't get the joke..." And with that, she surrendered herself to death.

* * *

Much to her surprise, Harley felt herself waking up. 'I don't understand' she thought. 'I died, I'm sure I did.' She was aware of the sensation of being carried, held close to someone's breast by a pair of thick, muscular arms. And then she became aware of the pain, like a thousand shards of glass shooting through her veins that exploded in white hot flashes with every step the man took.

Harley shrieked in unfathomable suffering, a visceral, inhuman sound that was almost enough to shut out the pain. She felt herself drawn close, embraced like a babe by its mother. She opened her tear filled eyes to take in the last sight she expected: It was Batman. It was he that had saved her, his arms that cradled her. She stopped screaming and began to sob uncontrollably.

"Shhh" He hushed her as he gently stroked her hair and brought his lips within an inch of her bloodied brow. "Help is here. You're going to be ok. You're going to make it though this, I promise." To her surprise, his voice was no longer disguised. It was deep and soft, strong and soothing, like a warm bath enveloping her ruined body.

"It hurts." She wept, each sob searing through her. "Oh God it hurts, it hurts s-o-o _b-a-a-a-d_."

"I know it does." He told her, his voice throbbing with pity and tears standing in his eyes. "We're almost there. Just a few more steps." She heard sounds then, rising like waves out of the shadows: Sirens and other voices. Several of them, talking over each other in a confused babble. It had to be an ambulance.

Her suspicion was confirmed when two young men in green scrubs rushed to their side with a gurney. Batman laid her atop the bed ever so slowly, so gently that she barely realized it was happening. She gazed upwards and saw his face once more before the medics forced him away. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, and what little she could see of his cheeks were soaking wet. He reached out one final time and softly caressed her cheek, then he was gone and there was only the EMS personnel.

She suddenly felt the straps tighten around her, binding her firmly to the gurney, and her mind exploded once more with pain. She shrieked again, this time so hard that she felt she would tear her own throat out as they rushed her into the back of the ambulance. Then she went limp, utterly spent. She saw her vision begin to darken once more as a young woman placed an oxygen mask over her face.

As she faded away, she couldn't think of anything but Batman's face. The man she had betrayed, captured, tried to kill. His tears of pity, shed for her. His rescue, his gentle touch of mercy, all for her.

'What a funny guy' she thought again, and then she was gone.

* **AUTHORS NOTE:** First off, to my readers: I'm glad that you are enjoying the story thus far! For optimum reading quality, I advise reading it at ½ width. I'll be attempting to update the story about twice a week until it's finished (and that could be a while, but not too long if I keep crapping out content at that rate). I may not always succeed, but that's the goal. Also, please feel free to follow the story, leave reviews, ect. This will not only help me provide a better product for you, but it'll help me keep track of just how many "customers" I have.

Second, I'd like to give credit where it's due to "e-guerrero", the artist who produced the amazing piece of cover art I used for this story! Eh... Especially since I _might_ not have explicit permission to use it yet, and I'd kind of like to repay him in the form of new fans. Really though, his stuff is great, so check him out at deviantart, and thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Four**

The court sat silent as the grave as Harley Quinn finished her tale. Shockingly, even the Joker was silent, his usual smile nowhere to be found. The only noises came from Harley herself, who had begun crying again towards the end of her story. No detail had been spared, and the admonition of her crimes just served to lend weight to her testimony. Dent looked on solemnly before finding his voice again.

"While the emotional and psychological damage from this incident is incalculable, could you please tell the court what physical damage you suffered?

"What's the point?!" She yelled hysterically. "Everyone can see I'm fuckn' crippled!"

Dent's face blanched. "I'm sorry." He told her.

"It's alright." She replied in a somewhat mollified tone. Then, with a deep breath, she began. "They said that my skull was fractured. That's why I got the new look." She said, gesturing to her shaved and bandage covered head as she did so. A ghost of a smile flitted across Dent's face before she continued.

"Obviously my left arm's busted up pretty good. Neck's sprained, and both my legs are pretty much fucked. The doc's said I'll need a bunch of plates and screws, _if_ I'm lucky..."

"Would you care to explain that statement?" Dent asked in a flat voice.

"M-my back's... broken." She replied, her voice trembling again. "Two spots, at the bottom. They said the bone broke and cut the nerves, like I'm stabbn' myself in the back. I'm goin' in for surgery today, and there's less than thirty-seventy odds that I'll evah be able ta walk again. And even if I can, my guts... They..." Dent stepped forward to comfort the grief-stricken woman, but stepped back a second later.

"I'm _nevah gonna have kids! Nevah! No family, no babies, nothin'!"_ She wailed in utter despair before dissolving once more into tears.

Dent's head fell to his chest. With seemingly great effort, he raised it again. "One final question Ms. Quinn: Would you please tell the court what plea bargain you received in exchange for your testimony here today?"

"Nothin'." She said, shaking her head. "Not a Goddamn thing. Ya can do whatevah ya want with me, I don't even care anymore. My life's ovah anyway..."

"Nothing further." Dent quietly announced to the courtroom.

"Does the prosecution have any questions for this witness?" The judged asked in an equally subdued voice.

The prosecution stood with a slightly sick expression, though whether it was due to the heartbreaking tale he had just heard or his physical proximity to the madman who caused it all was unclear. "No your honor, we do not."

"Very well then. This court shall-" The Judge began.

"Oh I think _I_ have a question for the witness!" The Joker said with a malevolent smile as he stood to face his former partner.

"Your Honor..." Dent with a strong note of warning.

The judge raised his hand to calm the agitated attorney before turning his attention to the Joker. "Against my better judgment, I'll allow it... For now."

"Well now," The Joker began, stretching and cracking his knuckles obnoxiously. "This is kind of funny, isn't it? I've never had anyone go _turncoat_ on me before!"

"Yes, the fear of having your lungs pulled out through your mouth will do that to a person." Dent muttered sourly. If this was an attempt to get a chuckle out of Harley, it fell flat. She could already feel the shame of her position rising once more like bile in her throat.

"Oh, I never did that!" The Joker objected with obviously feigned offense. "That was all Scarecrow! He's _creative_ like that!"

"Order!" The judge shouted as he made excellent use of his gavel. "If you have a question, ask it now or be held in contempt even more so than you already are!"

"Well, I'm just not sure how to handle this!" The Joker said. "Tell me, _Harley_ " he continued with a savage glint in his eye. "How would you like the 'Gordon Girl Treatment' eh? After all, you're already halfway there!" He finished with a howl of laughter.

For one eternal moment, the hall was silent as the grave. Then all hell broke loose.

As Harley sat still as a statue, numb with shock and horror, she was dimly aware of a number of events unfolding all at once: The Judge pounding and screaming for order, Harvey Dent bellowing for the prosecution to 'get your _goddamn_ client under control!' while the opposing attorney was on his feet next to the Joker and ordering him to _'sit the fuck down!_ ' And that wasn't all: In the back, two cops were escorting a clearly livid Commissioner Gordon out of the room, and Mr. Wayne's frantic butler was shouting "Bruce! Sit down!" while attempting to restrain his brash young master. Wayne was clearly hearing none of it however, as he tore his arm from the butler's grasp with astounding ferocity, a move that almost sent the old man head first into the row in front of them.

But all this chaos was white noise to Harley, as the memories of the past few days rushed back to her in a flood, right along with their accompanying emotions. Feelings that made her want to scream, cry and vomit all at once. For whereas once those words would have been meaningless to her, she now knew the awful truth behind them.

A little over two years ago, Barbra Gordon had received a knock at the door one quiet evening. Thinking it was her friend coming to work out with her, she had opened the door happily and without a hint of hesitation. Instead of her friend, she came face to face with the Joker, who promptly shot in the abdomen. The bullet had traveled through her intestines and lodged in her spine, severing her spinal cord and permanently paralyzing her from the waist down. This, however, was merely the beginning. Not satisfied with that act of violence, he had dragged her inside where he repeatedly, brutally raped her as she bled out on her living-room floor. He took scores of pictures of the vile deed and later used them after he kidnapped her father, Commissioner Gordon, forcing him to repeatedly ride an old carnival roller-coaster where he was shown every grizzly detail of his daughter's rape.

In reprisal for these despicable acts Batman had snapped his neck and left him for dead, which would have been a good guess if Harley hadn't arrived on the scene. She had rushed him to a doctor who had not only been able to save him, but had ensured that he would walk again. She had never known exactly what had happened that night; only that The Batman had tried to take her Sweetheart from her, and she had hated him for it. It wasn't until she was herself in the hospital a few days later that someone had told her the story.

At first, she had refused to believe it. Sure, she had thought, we've done some bad stuff; but he would _never_ do anything that twisted, that _evil_. But when the nurse caring for her had hesitantly confirmed the story, she had insisted on seeing proof, even refusing to eat until they brought her a copy of the case-file. Upon reading it, she hadn't been able to eat or sleep for a full day afterwards. And now here he was, standing right in front of her and threatening to do the same thing again... _To her._ She felt as if her world was yet again spinning out of control as her feelings of loving devotion were overwhelmed with feelings of disgust and horror.

"How..." She began, gazing at the Joker with betrayal written on every line of her face. " _How could ya?_ I didn't want ta believe it but... It's true isn't it?! How could ya do something so sick?!"

"Oh, you already heard that one did you?" He said, his grin stretching until it looked as if his face would split apart as his eyes rolled insanely in their sockets. 'Is _this_ the _real_ Mr J?' Harley thought as she clenched her fist so hard that she could feel her nails cutting into her palms. 'Is _this_ what everyone else sees when they look at him? And how fucked in the head must I have been to not see it myself?'

"Yeah, that one was a real _thigh-slapper!_ I wonder if it'll be as funny the second time around?" He asked with another howl of bloodthirsty, hyena-like laughter.

" _Your Honor!"_ Wayne and Dent bellowed in simultaneous protest.

"Security, remove this _thing_ from my courtroom!" The judge cried as he gesticulated wildly with his gavel, his face a dangerous shade of red and looking like he was about to blow more than a few veins.

"Oh come on," The joker protested as the guards the flanked him sized him on each arm. "Can't a guy _rev up his Harley?"_

" _Burn in hell you sick fuck!"_ Harley shrieked with every ounce of venom she could muster, even the smallest feelings of affection lost to her blinding rage.

"You know, you're not the first person to say that to me." The Joker shot back with a cackle as the guards dragged him off to the right and toward the holding cells. "Maybe you and the Bats could have a go at it?"

Harley was too stunned by this preposterous notion to do anything but sit slack-jawed as the Joker was dragged away, singing as he went "Har-ley and Bat-ty sitting in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N-G!" This was apparently too much for the Judge, who hurled his gavel after the retreating clown and then stared at his podium with the shameful determination of a man who his avoiding another's gaze. Harley vaguely wondered if Mr. Wayne's butler had managed to get _him_ under control at least, but a quick glanced at the back wall revealed that they were both missing, having obviously slipped out at some point during the chaos.

"This court stands adjourned for one hour, at which time we will hear the jury's verdict. And hopefully my medication will have kicked in by then." The judge added irritably. He looked around for a moment before remembering that his gavel lay in the right corner of the room opposite the jury box, a good thirty feet away. Looking even more cross, he pulled a coffee mug out from a cubby hole in the podium and pounded it in place of his proper tool. "Court dismissed!"

Dent stopped the orderly as he wheeled Harley past him on their way to the door, and gazed down at her in sympathy. "Are you alright?" He asked with touchingly genuine concern. She shook her head. "I'm sorry." He apologized again.

"Not your fault." She said before blowing her nose again and wincing.

"Thank you for doing this, and I promise I'll talk to the judge about you. We'll work something out, alright?" She nodded mutely, and Dent signaled the orderly to move on.

* * *

Out in the waiting area Harley sat quietly, her mind still reeling from the events within the courtroom. The Joker didn't love her. But that should hardly have surprised her at this point. After all, he was a monster, and so was she. Even Two-Face, an occasional ally of the Joker in the past, saw him for what he was and was working against him. Perhaps strangest of all, the Batman, who she had wholeheartedly believed their tormentor, was her savior. And she, Harley Quinn, was now nothing more than a barren cripple. Her life had been nothing but a house built upon the sand, and now the tide has rushed in and swept it all out to sea. And for the first time, it really struck her how alone she truly was and had been these past years. There was no one alive in all the world who would love her as she was now, as she had become...

"Ms. Quinn?" Came a firm yet gentle voice from beside her.

"Yeah, that's me." She replied with a sniffle before looking over at the speaker. The voice had sounded oddly familiar, and with a start she saw that it belonged to a smiling Bruce Wayne. He was standing just a foot or so away from, and presented a handsomely powerful image with his obviously muscular body clad in a fine, pinstriped black suit with a crimson tie. Or at least he did until one saw his face. She winced. His face looked... _Bad._

"Jesuz Mistah Wayne, what happened ta _you?_ " She exclaimed. "Ya look almost as bad as me!"

"Well, I do believe that's the nicest compliment I've had in ages." He said with a winning smile. She looked away and blushed in embarrassment at his brazen compliment before looking back at his battered visage. She had thought something looked wrong from the far end of the courtroom, but up close it looked like someone had beaten him with a pipe or something. A broken nose, black eye, split lip and a gash across his right cheekbone were all featured on the warscape that was his face.

"It turns out that when skiing, you're supposed to go _around_ the trees." He glibly replied.

She started to laugh, then grimaced in pain. "Aw, don't make me laugh! I'm barely holdn' togetha as is..."

"Sorry." He said. "One more pro tip though: Don't ski on sheets of ice. Stick to powder."

Harley winced again at the thought skidding across ice face-first into a tree. "Yeah, I'll keep that in mind." She studied his face again, remembering the times she had seen it previously. With a pang of guilt, she realized that these had not exactly been positive experiences for him.

"Listen," she began "Since your here, I just wanna say I'm really, _really_ sorry for all the trouble I've always caused ya. Like the time I mugged ya in the theater and duped ya into thinkin' your friend got shot. And the time I hit ya in the face with that manikin arm. And-"

"Hey hey, it's alright!" Bruce cut her off with a laugh. "After all, I'm still here right? And it's not like you ever tried to kill me or anything." She smiled in gratitude for his kindness, a kindness she knew she didn't deserve.

"Thanks for goin' easy on me." She said. "I'm just... I'm really fucked up." She finished despondently.

Bruce shot her a roguish, lopsided smile. "We all are. But I don't think it's the past that matters so much as where you decide to go from here. And I just want you to know that I think you're on the right track." He finished, his deep brown eyes locking with hers. She felt tears, this time of joy, welling up in her eyes.

"Really?" She earnestly asked.

"Cross my heart." He replied tenderly, marking an x across his chest. "I think what you did in there took a lot of courage. So keep your chin up." He told her as reached down and gently cupped her chin in his hand, wiping her tears away with his thumb. "And your head waxed, the chrome-dome look really suits you!"

"Oh _gawd_ , don't look at me! Look away!" She wailed, then laughingly pushed his arm away. Strangely, laughing that time didn't hurt. In fact, for a moment she felt light as a feather, as if all her cares, fears and regrets had been lifted from her. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so... _Free_. But it felt wonderful.

"So, will you be staying to hear the verdict?" He inquired after their laughter subsided. She shook her head in response.

"Naw, I've got surgery today. The big one. They're gonna try to... Fix my back. So I can walk again. But my odds ain't exactly swell..." She replied, her gaze falling and the joy she had felt just a moment before fading away into nothingness.

Bruce lifted her chin again and gazed deeply into her eyes. "You _will_ walk again. You're a tough woman, a fighter, and you're going to make it through this, I promise." Harley's eyes lit up again at those words. 'Those words' she mused 'Seem so familiar. Where have I heard them before?'

Just then, Harley's escort stepped out of the restroom. "Are you ready to go?" He asked. She nodded.

"That's my ride." She said dryly.

"Well, don't let me keep you from your carriage." Bruce joked. Then his gaze turned serious, though still encouraging. "Remember: You've got this."

"Yeah, I've got this." She echoed with a wistful smile. And with that, she was wheeled out of the courthouse; out to the late morning light and an uncertain fate. But at least it was a fate that she now felt ready to face.

* * *

Bruce watched Harley leave, and silently prayed to whatever Gods may be that her hopes wouldn't be dashed again. On that note, he pulled out his cellphone and made a quick call.

"This is Gotham General Hospital, how may I direct your call?" The operator asked in a perky voice.

"You have a patient who will be undergoing spinal surgery this afternoon by the name of Harleen Quinzel. I'd like to speak to her surgeon, if he's available please."

"May I ask who's calling?" She inquired.

"Bruce Wayne. I own the hospital."

"Oh, well I'll get you right over to him!" She replied before placing him on hold. After a moment, a gravelly male voice spoke.

"Hello, Mr. Wayne? To what do I owe the pleasure?" He asked, attempting to hide his nervousness with good humor.

"Relax." Bruce told him. "You're Ms. Quinzel's surgeon, right?"

"That's correct." He confirmed. "Surgery's slated for two-pm. If all goes well, it should only take a couple of hours."

"I was just speaking to her here in the courthouse, and she told me about her surgery this afternoon. I just wanted to wish you luck and to tell you that..." His voice trailed off as he drew in a deep breath and steadied his nerves. "You _make sure_ that it does go well. Whatever it costs, whatever it takes, if you need it you'll have it. Just get that girl back on her feet, understand?"

"I understand." The doctor replied in a grave tone.

"Thank you. Can you transfer me to the gift shop from there?"

"I can." He said.

"Good, please do so. And thank you in advance." Bruce said. After a moment another overly cheerful woman answered the phone.

"Gotham General Hospital gift shop! For the holiday we have our Thanksgiving items twenty-percent off! What can I do for you today?"

"A patient by the name of Ms. Harleen Quinzel will be undergoing a tough surgery today. Once it's finished, I want two dozen yellow roses, a card and a box of your best chocolates sent up to her room please."

"No problem! And is there anything in specific you would like on the card?" She asked.

"Yeah, there is." He replied after a moment's thought. He gave her his instructions, payed for it with his card and hung up a moment later, turning to face the door to courtroom number three as he ended the call.

'So this is where it all ends.' He thought. In a matter of minuets, he had no doubt that the Joker would be sentenced to die. After that, they would waste no time in carting his crazy, mass-murdering ass upstate where he would hang for his many, many crimes. And Bruce was equally as sure that he wouldn't lose a single night's sleep over the matter. In fact, he had strongly considered just murdering the Joker outright when he had the chance, but had opted to give the people a more personal taste of the justice that they deserved.

With that thought, his mind turned back to that fateful night, and what he felt confident in saying was his final confrontation with the Joker...


	5. Chapter 5

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Five**

Ten Days Previously

"You're always taking shots from people who _just don't get the joke!"_ the Joker howled, his voice rising to a fevered, fanatical pitch.

Bruce strained frantically at his bindings, but the chains held fast. He could see the main lock up by his feet, but without a means of picking it, it might as well be on his back. And so he watched helplessly as the Joker choked the life from the woman who had called him "Lover", blind and def to the enemy a few feet away; an enemy that would have gladly died rather than watch the Joker murder someone right in front of him. Bruce had tricked her into calling him, knowing that the Joker would rather free him than give anyone else the honor of ending his life. But he had never expected that the mere thought of being shown up would have provoked such a violent assault _against his own ally._

And then he saw it: The subtle shifting of weight, the slight bending of the Joker's knees and and retraction of the arm in preparation for a powerful thrust. He intended to toss her out the window to her death.

"Oh God..." He exclaimed in horror, both at what was about to happen and the realization that he was completely powerless to stop it. "No, _don't do it Joker! Let her go!"_ He cried in a desperate bit to avert the atrocity.

"Puddn'..." Harley muttered as she hung in his grasp, reaching out pitifully to the Joker as if hoping her touch could convey even a hint of her love for him and convince him to spare her life. But it was useless. With a heave, the Joker hurled Harley backwards through the and down to what was certain to be a gruesome and painful death.

"And don't call me _Puddn'._ " The Joker grumbled scornfully after her before turning away from the window and marching over to a horrified Bruce Wayne.

"I _really_ do have to apologize for the kid." The Joker said as he approached Bruce. Bruce's mind was racing and his pulse pounding in his veins. With Harley gone, the Joker might try to kill him now, and chained up as he was he was still largely helpless. Though he supposed that if pressed, and if the Joker came close enough, he could _attempt_ to knock him out.

"No respect for tradition!" The Joker stated as he briefly struggled with the chains, then sent Bruce crashing to the ground beside the tank. "Let's just pretend the whole thing never happened and do this some other time, k?" He finished with an insulting pat on Bruce's cheek. Bruce growled furiously, and only the knowledge of his currently helpless state kept him from attempting to murder the Joker then and there.

The Joker walked away, whistling pleasantly as if nothing had happened, but then halted suddenly before the doors. "Then again," He mused aloud before rounding on Bruce with a vicious grin. "This _is_ a rather rare opportunity..."

'Shit' Bruce thought in dismay. For a moment, it had seemed as though the crazy bastard really would leave him be, but it looked like he _was_ going to have to fight him whilst chained after all. And in this case, his best hope would be to leap at the Joker and head-butt him. Reckless and generally ineffective, but he didn't have a lot of other options. But then the Joker pulled a handgun out of his suit, and Bruce's heart sank. So he was going to do the smart thing at shoot him from a distance...

"You know what they say," The Joker continued as come close to Bruce, _far too close_. Close enough to strike. "A Bat in the hand is worth two in the belfry! I guess you're going out on a laugh after all!" The Joker cried with a shriek of insane laughter, holding the gun inches from his enemy's face. Bruce stared down the Beretta's barrel, the pungent smell of the gun-oil making his nose wrinkle. 'I'm not going out like this' Bruce thought as he gritted his teeth in rage. 'Not here and _not to him!'_

With a mighty kick, Bruce brought his knees up and slammed them into the Joker's elbow, forcing the barrel off-mark and the bullet that passed through it into the massive fish-tank behind him. Bruce rolled out of the way and leapt away, catching his belt from the nearby table in his teeth as the tank shattered, pouring its contents on the shocked Joker. The water knocked him flat on his back, and the angry piranhas attacked him, sinking their teeth into whatever flesh they could get at as if in vengeance for their own immanent deaths.

Bruce fell behind the control box for the winch and feverishly extracted a small vile of acid from a pouch in his belt. It was risky, but he knew he had only _seconds_ before the Joker was ready to fight again, and he didn't have nearly enough time to pick the lock. He rubbed it on the ground, sliding the cap open and being careful not to spill any, then brought his feet as close as he could and splashed the contents on the lock. The acid rapidly ate into the mechanism as he forced his legs apart, doing his best to further weaken the lock. After a few moments it sprang free, and he shucked off his bindings before snapping his belt on.

The Joker yanked the last fish off and turned to search for his gun, only to be confronted with a very free and very angry Batman. "You're a dead man." Bruce snarled at the suddenly fearful clown. With the odds no longer in his favor, he turned and fled, smashing through the large double doors and out of sight.

Given how far it was to the bottom, he guessed that the Joker would opt for the quicker route and head two floors up to the roof. Bruce smashed out a nearby window and grappled up to the next-door roof, determined to catch the retreating maniac and carve the penance for his victim's lives from his quivering flesh.

He rolled onto the roof and quickly came to his feet, then turned to face the building he had come from, perched and watching like some kind of massive raptor stalking its prey. And he didn't have to wait long, as the door onto the roof flew open a bare moment later and expelled a frantic and disheveled Joker who still looking half drowned and bleeding from various bite marks. Frankly he looked like shit, and that brought a smile to Bruce's face. Of course it wasn't _nearly_ enough suffering to put him square, but it was a start.

The Joker didn't even pause in his stride, running to the edge of the building and leaping onto the roof of a nearby factory. The old-fashioned clay shingles quaked beneath his weight, but held strong for the moment. He threw himself behind the nearest smoke stack and waited, panting heavily for several moments before peering out from behind his shelter to the roof of the Aquacade. This, however, was a complete waste of his time as Bruce had glided silently to the next smokestack over and then carefully leapt to the very one the Joker was hiding behind.

With great care and the cover of the usual city noises, he lowered himself noiselessly behind the Joker, who's posture and body language clearly indicated that he believed himself to have escaped. And that was am illusion that Bruce couldn't shatter soon enough.

"She almost had me you know." He stated in a a level, matter-of-fact tone and watched with satisfaction as the Joker stiffened like a plank. The Joker slowly turned to stare in horror and the hulking shadow behind him.

"Arms and legs chained, dizzy from the blood rushing to my head... I had no way out except convincing her to call you. I knew your massive ego would never allow anyone else the 'honor' of killing me. Though I have to admit, she came a lot closer than you ever did... 'Puddn'". He delivered this last with a mocking twist of a smile.

The barbed criticism worked like a charm, striking right at the Joker's pride. The Joker growled in rage at the insult, then dashed forward, attempting to pummel Bruce in a furious assault. But he was too angry, and his swings were wide, sloppy and telegraphed far too early to be effective. Bruce dodged and parried several blows with almost laughable ease before delivering a flat-palmed blow to his chest, knocking the wind out of him and sending him reeling back. The Joker gasped, quickly regaining his breath, then drew a military style double-edged knife from his jacket. His eyes were no longer wide and frantic, but narrowed into slits while his movements became cautious and measured.

'There he is.' Bruce thought, the adrenaline really beginning to pump though he veins now. They circled each-other carefully now, two hunters watching carefully for an opening, a chance to strike a killing blow. Bruce appeared to have an obvious advantage due to his armor, but he wasn't about to get cocky. After all, his suit was tough but a knife _could_ penetrate it with enough force applied at the correct angle, and all it took to kill a man was one well-placed wound. Plus, having examined the Joker up close now, he noticed that the Joker was only bleeding from bites inflicted on _bare skin._ Knowing that the piranhas could easily bite through regular cloth, this was a fair indication that his suit was also Kevlar, in spite of its casual appearance.

In a flash, the Joker lunged forward, thrusting his knife straight at Bruce's face. Bruce brought his left arm up in an instant to knock the attack aside, but rather than follow through, the knife dipped low and to the right, meaning that his deflection was a few inches off the mark. The knife then shot out in a wide arc to the left, hitting Bruce with a powerful slash across the chest. Not enough to penetrate, but enough to make a dent in the suit and more than enough to hurt.

This move left the Joker wide open however, and Bruce took full advantage of the opening, charging forward with his guard low and to the left, where the blade had finished it's arc. The Joker threw a left hook, but Bruce allowed the blow to connect with the side of his face in favor of catching the knife that was, as he had correctly guessed, plunging toward his open abdomen.

He caught the blow just a few inches before it connected, seizing the Joker's forearm with his left hand and hooking his right arm beneath the offending limb, driving his right shoulder into the Joker's chest and throwing him off balance as he did so. And then, with an alternating thrust and pull, he tore the Joker's elbow out of its socket. The Joker screamed in pain as his joint disconnected with a sickening pop, and dropped the knife onto the roof below, which was _exactly_ what Bruce had been hoping for.

Bruce yanked the Joker forward by his broken arm and struck him across the face with his bladed gauntlet, cutting him to the bone before his fist even connected. The Joker fell face-first to the roof, and Bruce took the moment to fill his hand with a batarang, half of it protruding from his hand like like a punch-dagger. With a decisive blow, he would drive the blade through the back of his skull, severing his spinal cord and sinking into his brain. It would be quick, clean, and more than he deserved.

With a mighty heave, he drove his fist downward, only to have his target move at the last instant. The Joker rolled into his feet with surprising force, throwing him off balance and onto the spot that had only moments before been occupied by his enemy.

As tried to right himself, Bruce became aware of a very strange sensation, almost as though he were sledding. After a moment he realized what it was: The Joker had loosened the clay shingles, and they were now sliding off the roof and falling five stories to the street below, and carrying Bruce with it. He attempted to stand, only to fall flat on his face as the tiles gave way like shifting sand beneath him. He made one final push and managed to roll back onto firm roof right before reaching the edge.

"Heads up Batty-Man!" He heard the Joker holler.

Bruce looked upwards, only to see the Joker's shoe flying towards his face... With a large blade sticking out of the toe. He shifted his weight and the kicked barely missed, grazing his cowl. He reached out and grabbed the Joker's remaining foot and yanked it out from under him, sending his crashing onto his back and knocking the wind out of him.

Bruce pounced on the Joker and cried as he descended: "I've had _enough_ of your _bullshit!"_ He drove his left fist towards the Joker's face, filled with another batarang and fully intending to shove it though the Joker's eye socket and right into his sick little brain. The Joker grabbed his arm and stopped the blow, only to have his face beaten furiously with Bruce's other hand, the brass-reinforced knuckles shattering his chin and cheek. He finally released his grip on Bruce's arm and fell back, all the fight beaten from his bloodied body.

Arm held high and ready to strike, Bruce seized his fallen rival by the throat and perched over him like a massive bird of prey over its kill. No one deserved death more than him. Countless lives had been destroyed by him. Even someone like Harleen, his partner and lover wasn't safe from him. He had crippled and raped Barbra, beaten Jason Todd to death with a goddamn _crowbar_ , beaten Harleen and thrown her to her death, and killed so many others... The number of people harmed by his evil was incalculable. People who had lost loved ones, who's grief would never be heard... Who's tales would never be told in court, who would never see justice if he killed the Joker here tonight...

With a scream of rage, Bruce drove his blade into the roof next to the Joker's head, shattering the shingle and embedding the blade into the wood beneath. Then he grabbed the weakly protesting Joker by the hair and dragged him to the nearest smokestack. Bruce flung him standing up against the bricks, then bound him tightly against the chimney with a steel cable, tying a batarang up against his neck in the process. That way, if the bastard tried too hard to escape, he'd cut his own throat. 'And wouldn't that be a crying shame' Bruce thought sarcastically.

The Joker laughed weakly, the settled his unsteady gaze on Bruce. "You missed." He chuckled.

"Shut up." Bruce growled as he finished binding the madman.

"You should talk to Harley, she _never_ misses! I bet she splatted right on target!" He said with a cruel laugh.

" _Burn in hell you sick fuck!"_ Bruce shouted, driving his fist into the Joker's temple and knocking him out cold. Then he used his integrated cellphone to place a call to a man who he had little doubt was working himself up into a panic.

"Alfred, it's me." He said the moment he heard someone pick up.

"Bruce?! Thank God, where the hell have you been?!" Alfred almost shouted into the line. 'Panicked was right' Bruce thought with a slight smile.

"It's a long story. Right now, I need you to get Gotham City Dispatch on the line. Tell them I have the Joker tied up at the coordinates I'm sending you."

"So you did get him after all? Well done sir, I'll have them on the way momentarily." Alfred replied before hanging up.

Confident that the GCPD would shortly be on their way, Bruce leapt from the roof and sent an electric charge through his cape, turning it into a giant 'wing' that he used to glide silently into the nearby alley. There was something he needed to see with his own two eyes, and after a moment of searching he found it.

There, laying on a broken crate amidst bags of stinking trash, lay Dr. Harleen Quinzel. Just a few hours ago she had deceived him, literally stabbing him in the back and kidnapping him. She had intended to kill him, and try though he might he couldn't bring himself to fault her for it, couldn't feel anything but pity for the poor girl. And if he had to give a reason, he'd say it was because he understood.

As crazy and senseless as it was, she had loved the Joker with every fiber of her being. He had watched her risk her life for him countless times before, and he had no doubt that she would have died for him without a moment's hesitation. So killing for him certainly wasn't unreasonable, especially if it was a man who she saw as a heartless savage who lived to torment her lover.

And if Bruce were completely honest with himself, he would have done _exactly_ the same in her place. His parents, his friends, a long stream of lackluster romances... He had loved and lost more times than he could count, had almost become calloused to it. He had utterly given up on the idea that any woman could love him with the fierce devotion that he extended to his circle, to Alfred and Dick and Tim, to Barbra and Helena and, once upon a time, Selina. There was _nothing_ he wouldn't give for them, no sacrifice or pain too great. And if he believed _even for a moment_ that a woman he loved that way returned such selfless love, there would be no depth he wouldn't sink too, no stain too dark upon his soul to stop him from protecting her.

So yes, he understood her. And to see a woman love like that, even if it was towards someone as evil as the Joker... He couldn't help but feel that the world was a lesser place to have lost someone like that. In fact he knew it was, from the bottom of his heart. And so he stood over her in that dark alley on a cold November night, paying sacred tribute to her with his tears so rarely shed. Tears for a beautiful soul so senselessly crushed, and a world that was now a little darker without her light.

And so it had been year after year, decade after decade for him. The evil in the world seemed to grow more numerous and powerful while he withered and aged. The light of the righteous was stamped out and their bloodied bodies seemingly piled to the moon. And now it was her turn to be added to that pile. Harleen Quinzel was the latest tragic loss in a long line of victims that he couldn't save; and Bruce was absolutely sure that if there _was_ a hell and he went there after death finally claimed him too, his hell would be to drown forever in the blood of the good people he couldn't save while their dead eyes watched in silent accusation.

As his gaze wandered over her broken corpse, his breath caught in his throat as he noticed a slight shimmer on her left leg, near where her broken femur protruded gruesomely from her tights. The blood that soaked the area and the bags beneath it looked wet, _fresh._ In fact, the bag shouldn't have been wet at all if she had been killed on impact. He pulled off his glove and gently touched the spot. It was both wet _and warm_.

Bruce scarcely dared to believe it, but he checked her slender throat for a pulse and was flabbergasted to find one. Shallow and weak yes, but even so it meant she was alive! Against all the odds, _she had survived!_ But unless he acted quickly, she wouldn't stay among the living.

He quickly pulled a tourniquet from his belt and tied it off as far from her knee as he could, in case they ended up needing to amputate her leg as a result. As he tightened the band, he prepared for her to awaken from the pain, but she laid motionless even so. That couldn't be good. Bruce dialed dispatch himself this time, not wanting to waste a moment.

"Gotham City Dis-"

"I need an ambulance at the Aquacade building, and I needed it here an hour ago!" Bruce shouted, cutting the woman off mid-sentence. "I have a casualty here who fell six stories. She's still alive for now, but I doubt she has much time."

"Understood, we have an ambulance on the way already in conjunction with a tip we just received." The dispatch officer replied without missing a beat.

"Send another one, she needs to be on this one. She can't afford to wait even a moment." He demanded. He looked down the alley and grimaced with dismay. There was far too much trash in the way, pallets and cans and boxes... They wouldn't be able to get to her with a stretcher without expending considerable time and effort, and she couldn't afford to wait.

"I don't like doing this, but I'm going to have to move the victim. I'll meet you in front of the building." He stated before hanging up. He knew the officer would argue, and he didn't have time for it. Before walking over to Harleen, he decided to switch off his voice modulator. The last thing he needed was to scare her into struggling.

Bruce made his way to the poor wreck and reached under her, taking the utmost care to support her head and neck to the best of his ability. 'She's so light...' He pondered as he began to leave the alley with the frail, broken woman cradled tenderly in his arms. He'd been hit by her before and knew she packed a serious punch. Because of this, he had somehow always expected that she would weigh more. But she seemed almost weightless in his steady grasp.

As they reached the mouth of the alley, Bruce carefully climbed over the obstacles, making sure to keep her level every step of the way. He breathed a sigh of relief when they were finally free of the rancid, dark confines. He heard sirens approaching and smiled in relief. Then he felt her stir ever so slightly and murmur. His muscles tensed taunt as a bowstring, but before he could even utter a word, she came to... And screamed. He winced at the sheer force of the sound, a horrid noise that tore at his heart and made him want to both comfort her and shrink from her all at once.

He opted for the latter and tightened his grip ever so slightly, hoping to convey through his protective embrace that all would be well. He looked down as her scream ceased, and she began to sob uncontrollably. She was looking right back at him, her eyes pouring tears like rain, her face smudged in equal parts with paint and blood.

"Shhhh..." He whispered as he tenderly stroked her hair and brought his face within an inch of hers. "Help is here. You're going to be ok. You're going to make it though this, I promise."

"It hurts." She wept, her voice coming out in pitiful, hacking bursts as she quaked in his arms. "Oh God it hurts, it hurts s-o-o _b-a-a-a-d_."

"I know it does." He told her, tears of sympathy welling once more in his eyes. "We're almost there. Just a few more steps."

And ambulance and police cruiser both pulled up in front of them, the cruiser continuing on behind him as the back of the ambulance opened up. Two orderlies rushed out with a cart and made their way straight to Bruce and Harleen. He laid her upon it as gently as he could, and was gratified when she didn't cry out again. 'Hang in there kid' he thought as caressed her cheek in farewell. Then the EMT's strapped her in and she screamed again, a cry that pierced the night like the shriek of the damned.

And then she was gone, hauled into the back of the ambulance that wasted no time in rushing her away to what he prayed was the help she needed to survive.

"They'll take good care of her." Came a familiar voice from behind Bruce. Commissioner Gordon. He must have been in the cruiser that had pulled past him.

"They'd better." Bruce growled, hoping to hide his genuine worry with gruff threats. It was a vain attempt as Gordon, now at his side, couldn't fail to notice the fact that Batman had been crying.

"My God, you're really concerned for her aren't you?" Gordon asked. Bruce nodded stiffly.

"She betrayed me, meant to kill me tonight. Kill me in order to... Protect the Joker. To 'free him' from me. To keep him safe. She took a great risk and nearly paid for it with her freedom if not her life. And in return, the Joker almost murdered her. She deserves better than that." Bruce said through gritted teeth. "Anyone can redeem themselves if given a chance, especially a girl like her. I have to believe that. If I didn't..." His voice choked off. The truth was that if he didn't keep hoping and looking on the bright side of things, no matter how irrational it may seem, he'd likely have blown his own brains out years ago. But He wasn't about to admit that to Gordon of all people. "Maybe this is her big chance. But at the very least, she'll be away from that psychopath. _No one deserves the Joker._ "

"Agreed. And speaking of which, we got him." Gordon replied with a grim smile that Bruce quickly returned in kind.

"So what now... Back to Arkham with him?" Bruce asked, both hoping and suspecting that this wasn't the case.

"Oh no... In the past, perhaps. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you that after the 0-18 ruling, New Jersey is back on-board with capital punishment, and that madman is sitting squarely at the top of a _lot_ of people's shit list, including myself and a few judges I know. He won't walk away from this one."

"Good riddance to bad garbage I say." Bruce said, eliciting a chuckle from Gordon.

"Truer words were never spoken. I just hope they botch his execution. That son of a bitch doesn't deserve a clean death." Gordon replied, his face darkening. Bruce could easily imagine who we was thinking about: A beautiful young woman in a wheelchair who would also be happy to see the Joker die.

"Speaking of 'redemption'," Gordon continued "I think I know just the lawyer to prosecute."

"You're thinking of Dent?" Bruce guessed.

Gordon nodded. "Harvey Dent... He had his license re-instated a couple of years ago. Actually used it to get the Joker out of Arkham, then got him involved in a scheme that nearly killed the clown. My guess is he's still itching for payback on a lot of old scores, and this would be a prime opportunity to get it and do the city a service."

Bruce pondered this for a moment, then nodded in agreement. "Harleen should testify."

"Are you out of your goddamn _mind_?!" Gordon exclaimed.

"Think about it: If she's to build a new life, she'll need to fully reject this one. She'll need to reject _him_ , stand up to him."

Gordon sighed and slumped his shoulders in defeat. "I'm not sure if this will buy us a ticket straight to heaven or hell, but you're right. I'll mention it to Dent."

"Good." Bruce stated simply. Then he turned away, fired his grapple-gun, and vanished into the night.

* * *

"Hello, Bruce?" Alfred said, snapping him out of his reverie.

"Sorry Alfred, I was just... Thinking." Bruce replied.

"Well the day's left you with no shortage of topics to contemplate." He replied with a sympathetic smile. "On that vein, I believe it's time for us to take our seats again.

Bruce quickly checked the time on his phone, and immediately got more than he bargained for. In addition to the time, which confirmed Alfred's statement, he saw that he had three missed calls and fourteen texts from Caitlin, his current 'flame'. He had no idea how he had missed this when placing his previous call, but she was clearly working herself into a tizzy. At the outset of their relationship he might have worried, but the last two months had taught him that this wasn't uncommon. Her sweet tendency to keep in constant touch _did_ unfortunately lead her to worry incessantly when contact couldn't be established. A little odd for a career lawyer, but not without its charms. After all, being needed elusively as Bruce was a welcome change from the usual. With a slight smirk, Bruce wondered how long it would take for her head to explode in panic if she knew about his 'nightlife'. But she would have to worry for a few more minuets, as he was busy.

As Bruce and Alfred entered the courtroom and took their seats again, Bruce noted with no small measure of amusement that while the Joker was back in the room, he was firmly chained and gagged. 'I'd have ripped his damn tongue out, but this will do.' He thought with a smile.

"All rise!" The court announcer commended as the judge approached the bench. Bruce rose with the crowd, his breath speeding with anticipation. He grimaced as he took his seat again as a dull, throbbing pain arose in his stomach. 'Stress must be making my ulcers act up', he thought sourly before turning his attention back to the bench.

"Is the jury prepared to render its verdict?" The Judge asked.

"We are your honor." A tall, swarthy man in the jury box replied. He then began to read from a list, looking up only to deliver the verdict on each point.

"On the charges of vandalism, dealing in illicit substances and materials and smuggling we find the defendant: Guilty. On the charges of money laundering, extortion and barratry we find the defendant: Guilty."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up at that last one. 'Barratry? I missed that one. The sadistic little shit must have been branching out.' he thought. The man continued to read.

"On three-hundred and twelve counts of assault, we find the defendant: Guilty. On seventy-two counts of burglary, we find the defendant: Guilty. On sixty-one counts of attempted murder, we find the defendant: Guilty. On forty-seven counts of murder, we find the defendant: Guilty. And on one count of rape, we find the defendant... Guilty." The judge nodded to the man, then delivered his sentence.

"Then as a Judge in the Great State of New Jersey, I hereby sentence the defendant to die for his crimes." He turned to the Joker before continuing. "You will be be taken upstate to New Jersey State Prison where you will be hanged by the neck until dead. May God have mercy on your soul, if you even have one. Case dismissed." He concluded with a rap of the gavel.

"So ends the Joker." Alfred said as he and Bruce stood and exited the room. Bruce looked at his phone again and fired off a quick text to his girlfriend.

"I'm sorry", it read. "I've been busy with the hearing. Also, I won't be able to make dinner today, but I'd love to take you out tomorrow if you have time." After only a moment, her answer arrived. "K" was all it said. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He should have been used to the high-maintenance type by now, but it never seemed to get any easier. At least her constant attention proved that she cared. Or that she was paranoid, or hyper controlling or neurotic... He decided to put it out of his mind. After all, he had enough headaches to deal with today without psychoanalyzing his girlfriend.

"Shall I assume from the discontented issuing of air from your lungs that you will _not_ be going out tonight?" Alfred asked in a tone that Bruce found to be a little too happy at the notion.

"I will be, but not to dinner." Bruce answered as they exited the courthouse. "I can't chance anything going wrong with the transport. I'll head up route forty-seven through Petersburg and meet them at the route fifty-two bridge, then escorting them up to Trenton. I need to see this through to the end."

"And which suit will you be wearing sir?" Alfred asked coyly. Bruce half-smiled and opened his door before replying.

"The one I hunt in." He said before shutting the door.


	6. Chapter 6

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Six**

Officer Merkley sat staring dully his radar gun. Normally he would have passed the long hours of his shift as a country traffic cop with games or YouTube videos, but his cellphone privileges had been yanked a few days ago after he had failed to meet the "ticket quota" that the cops didn't officially have.

"Merkley, respond!" The command came in over the radio, and he was a little embarrassed by the fact that they had likely made at least a few attempts to get his attention prior. He fumbled briefly with the outdated piece of crap before depressing the switch.

"Merkley here, what is it?" He asked.

"We have reports of a reckless driver heading your way at high speeds, do you have a visual?"

"No, everything's been pretty-" He began before something blew past his so fast that his cruiser rocked and swayed with the force of its passing. He had only seen it for a moment, but that was all he needed. It was a large black vehicle that looked like the unholy spawn of a limousine and a tank. Only one person in the city owned a monstrosity like that _and_ could navigate it flawlessly at over one-hundred and fifty miles per hour.

"Scratch that, I do have a visual. It's... Batman." He told dispatch, fully expecting to be called a liar.

"What? _Batman?_ In the country?! _In broad daylight?!"_ She blurted incredulously.

"I swear to God, it's gotta be him. Do you want me to, um... Pursue?" He asked, not really sure what to do at this point. The operator responded with a shameless giggle fest. 'Thanks a lot.' he thought sourly.

"In your dreams Merkley. I'll call ahead and let the others know, so you can just chill." And with that she hung up. Merkley slumped back in his seat his mind racing.

"What in the _hell_ is Batman doing out here, and at this hour?" He wondered aloud. The foreboding feeling in the pit of his stomach told him that whatever the reason was, it wasn't anything he wanted to be within a mile of...

Bruce smiled slightly as he blew past the cruiser parked by the highway. If he were to be totally honest with himself, the tiny bit of him that was still capable of genuine fun _did_ get a rise from imagining the call that had likely just gone in. But he couldn't let himself get distracted, not at these speeds. The road was almost entirely empty at the moment, but it wouldn't do to get sloppy, especially since he was almost out of country road and would heading straight into the suburbs soon.

A momentary twinge in his cheek distracted him, and he opted to slow down rather take any chances as the houses on Tuckahoe road became ever more frequent. He hadn't worn the cowl since the beating he had taken four days ago; and though the gash had healed up rather well, it was still surprisingly itchy.

'Of course' he thought as he hung a right on Roosevelt blvd and entered Marmora township proper, 'Allowing people to beat the tar out of me isn't exactly normal behavior for me. But she needed to vent, and I needed a her to testify so...' He shook his head in disgust. Who the hell was he kidding? He hadn't needed her to testify, _she_ had needed to testify for herself. And she had, it had all worked out in the end. And in that light, a few minor bruises and scrapes were a small price to pay.

As he was now driving a mere twenty miles above the speed limit, he allowed himself to take in the sights around him. He passed the small town's "Shop-Rite" and Burger King on right, and shortly afterwards the main building for Cape-Atlantic Storage on the left. It was a quaint two-storied house that looked as though it should have white picket fence surrounding it. 'I wonder if anyone actually does white picket fences anymore' he pondered with a nostalgic sigh.

Bruce had always enjoyed trips out to the country in his younger days and had, on rare occasions, daydreamed of the day that he would cleanse Gotham of the worst of its evil and be able to retire with a beautiful wife and a bevy of happy children. These were the moments that he had often described as "embarrassingly childish fantasies", Though Alfred paradoxically described them as "Rare and blessed moments of lucid sanity."

But now age was starting to catch up with him, and unwilling retirement loomed on the horizon. His hair was already graying at only forty-three, and while still far above average in fitness, his body could no longer handle the intense strain that he was constantly subjecting it to. Even the steroids he had used for so long to maintain his superhuman strength and stamina had diminished in returns to the point of becoming functionally useless, and with the ulcers they caused him growing ever worse, he had finally caved into Alfred's insistence that he ween himself off the drugs. This was also not without side effects, as he often found himself exhausted and depressed without the substance to prop him up.

'Of course' he thought glumly 'I could just be depressed because my life outside being a vigilante is lonely as a graveyard.' And this was largely true. Out of necessity he had kept his social circle small, having dismissed all the servants except Alfred upon returning home from his journeys so many years ago. Dick had moved on, and soon Tim would as well. Stephanie had only stayed briefly, though this was likely for the best. Having two hormonally charged teens making eyes at each other under the same roof had been... Awkward, to say the least.

Before he realized it, he was on the highway and almost to the bridge. The recent expansion had removed the closest concrete barriers near the bridge, leaving him a nice shoulder to pull onto, which he did in a spectacular spray of dust and what little gravel littered the asphalt. Now all that remained was to wait, and he doubted he would have to wait long.

As he waited, he rubbed his face again and remembered what he had bought with those injuries four days ago...

* * *

Bruce marched through the corridors of the Gotham Central Hospital, doing his best to ignore the stares and gasps from patients and doctors alike. He really couldn't blame them, after all he generally didn't visit the hospital dressed as Batman. But the task at hand required the use of his altar-ego, and though it was important to the current case that he was working with, it was absolutely essential to the victim whom he sought in those busy halls. She was located on the very top floor, and he knew that he had found the right room when he saw the one with a half-dozen armed SWAT officers standing guard outside.

"Is she still awake?" He asked, addressing the officer in charge.

"Yup." He responded. "We'll stay out of it... Just remember that if anyone asks, you snuck in. We never saw ya."

Bruce nodded curtly, wondering as he opened the door how exactly the officer intended to sell this fiction, given that half the hospital had already seen him. 'Oh well.' He thought. 'Not my problem.'

The door swung open and revealed a pair of beds framed beautifully in the light of the setting sun. One of them was empty, and the folded sheets on the end indicated that it had only recently been vacated, perhaps as little as an hour previously. And in the other bed lay Harleen Quinzel.

The bed was propped up into an almost sitting position, which was clearly necessary as she apparently couldn't sit up on her own. In fact, he noticed that in addition to wearing a neck brace she was strapped into the bed in a manor that immobilized her chest. That and the fact that she was no longer hooked up to an IV were both good news to Bruce, as they made the odds of her harming herself during what was to come almost nonexistent.

As she turned slightly to face him, his breath caught as he gazed upon her battered yet beautiful visage which glowed like a fallen angle in the golden rays of the dying day. And to his not inconsiderable shock and horror, he found himself suddenly feeling jealous... _Of the Joker._ Envious that such an evil man would be blessed to have the love and loyalty of such an earnest and alluring young woman.

He mentally shook himself out of his daze, which was all the easier when her expression became one of worry. He pulled out the 2x4 he had concealed behind his cape, her expression changed to heartbreaking fear.

"Don't beat me B-Man!" She pleaded. "If ya gotta kill me then that's fine, but please don't beat me!" His heart broke a little to hear those words. She sounded like a frightened, abused child. But even worse was the claim that death would be 'fine' with her. The doctors had told him that she alternated between fits of rage, long periods of deathlike silence and tearful outbursts where she would repeat over and over that she 'just wanted to die' and begging anyone within earshot to kill her. When he had spoken to Dent and agreed to convince her to testify, he knew that she would have to cleanse herself of these emotions before they would have any chance of convincing her. Though in all honesty, he'd have gladly helped her out of such dire emotional straits anyway, and he knew that nothing would help quite like having a scapegoat for her demons.

"I'm not going to beat you." He reassured her as he stopped in front of her bed. "You're going to beat me." He finished, taking a knee and holding the board out to her.

"What?" She asked, blinking repeatedly. "Is this some kind'a joke? Did ya just some here ta tease me?"

"I'm not joking. I deserve it don't I? After all, I took your lover away from you."

"Whadda ya mean?" She asked, a sudden edge creeping into her voice. "Where is my Puddn'? What did you do?!" But Bruce simply gazed stoically forward, by all appearances def to her questions. With an outcry and burst of energy like a breaking dam, she sized the board from him and struck him with a resounding blow across the face.

" _Where is he?!"_ she screamed, raining blow after blow down upon him. In spite of the protection his cowl afforded him, he felt his nose break under the assault but still held his ground as she vented all her pent up grief and fury on him.

" _Where's my Sweetheart?! What did ya do to him?! Answer me you fucker!_ Where... W-where..." The board clattered to the floor as she burst into tears. Then, to Bruce's surprise, she pulled his head to her breast and embraced him with her good arm.

"I'm sorry!" She wailed. "It ain't your fault, I'm so, so s-s-orry!"

Bruce was frankly unsure at this point whether to feel pained from the beating, touched by her tearful apology or aroused by having his face pressed into her ample breasts. He settled on all three in moderation as he gently disentangled himself from her grasp.

"It's alright." He told her. But she shook her head in stubborn refusal to be let off so easily.

"No it's not. All that time, I blamed you for my problems, when ya never did nothin' but tried to protect people from Miustah- From the Jokah and I. And then ya saved my life, and I went and did this to ya. I'm such an ungrateful bitch." She concluded morosely. "How could I evah make it up to ya?"

"I don't want anything from you." He told her. "But there _is_ something you can do for yourself."

"What, break things off with the Jokah? Dunno if ya noticed, but he threw me out a window. I think that's a pretty cleah break up ta me." She retorted with a derisive snort. Bruce smiled briefly at her attempted humor, then winced as he pinched his nose shut to quell the blood-flow, an action which required considerable pressure through his cowl.

"The Joker is-" He began before she cut him off with a brief snort of pained laughter.

"Sorry. Ya just sound funny with your nose plugged. Makes ya sound more... Human, ya know? Anyways, you were sayin?"

"The Joker is on trial for the crimes he's committed since his last escape, including what he did to you. Harvey Dent is prosecuting, and he thinks you should be on the stand as the final key witness. And I agree." He finished, watching the smile fly from her face at the proposal.

"You want... Me? Want me to betray my Puddn'?" She asked in disbelief. "No way. I can't do that. I can't face him. I-"

"The Joker has abused and neglected you for years." Bruce stated firmly, his nose no longer plugged. "You were a psychologist, you and I both know how important it is for victims of abuse to stand up to their abusers. If you don't do this, you'll never be able to move on, never be free of him."

Harleen's face bowed in thought, her brow creased with worry. He stepped forward and gently raised her chin to meet his gaze. "You won't be alone in there. Dent will be there, and if he can turn over a new leaf, anyone can. Even you. _Especially you._ If nothing else, you're a lot cuter than he was." Harley Chuckled at that, her face brightening a little bit more. He continued, hoping to win her over. "And it won't be just him. There will be hundreds of other people who've been hurt like you. You'll be surrounded by people who are on your side."

"Really?" she asked him with tears standing in her eyes.

"Cross my heart." He replied, making an x across his chest. She chuckled again before the pain made her stop. Then she gazed deeply into his eyes with startling conviction.

"You're right. I need ta face him. Tell Two-Face I'm on board. Cross my heart." She said, mirroring his gesture and once more bringing a smile to his face. His expression twisted into concern as he gazed downward at her hospital gown, which was now splattered with his blood.

"Sorry for the mess." He apologized.

" _You're sorry?"_ she inquired incredulously. He ignored her and continued.

"Tell the staff... Hell, just tell them the truth. They can be mad at me."

"You got it B-Man!" She retorted while snapping off a mock salute. He turned to leave, reaching for the door before a sudden cry stopped him in his tracks.

"Wait!" She called after him. "I just wanted ta say that... I'm sorry for what I did to ya that night. I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused ya and other people and... I'm just really, really sorry. For everything."

"I know. Just make it all count for something." He said. Then he opened the door, and left her behind, praying as he did so that this really was the best course for her to take in healing her heart and rebuilding her shattered life.

* * *

Of course it had all turned out alright, and she seemed well on the way to a genuinely brighter future. He, on the other hand... His future seemed murky and uncertain, and he no longer had any real idea what path his life would take next. At this rate, he wasn't sure that he could keep going till fifty, and wasn't really sure that he wanted to try. But what then? He could run for mayor... Keep serving the people in a less militant fashion. And that would give him something to do beyond facing his imminent 'empty nest' syndrome. This was of course assuming that things didn't work out with Caitlin. But he had his hopes in spite of Alfred's opinions to the contrary. Aside from being a stunning, raven-haired beauty she was also an intelligent and driven woman. A little spoiled perhaps and more than a little clingy, but Bruce was self aware enough to realize that he was in no position to criticize someone else's personality flaws. Besides, even for a handsome billionaire, forty-three was pushing things. He could hardly afford to be too picky at this point if he wanted to leave behind any legacy as a Wayne that wasn't an empty house and a lonely grave.

And that was perhaps his single greatest concern... His legacy. What would become of Gotham without the Batman to protect it? Sure, he had raised a brilliant next generation to carry the banner for him, but he had made many enemies, and most of them were younger than him. They could continue to plague the city long after he was gone. And the thought that they might continue to escape, to murder and destroy without him to keep them in check... What if his loved ones, Dick or Tim or Helena or Stephanie were murdered by _his_ unfinished problems, his unvanquished devils? It was that thought more than any other that haunted his waking thoughts and tormented his sleeping mind. Gotham descending into blood and darkness without him, and his friends sacrificed on that gory altar in his place...

Bruce shook his head and cleared his mind. Such thoughts were for later, not the middle of a mission. Besides, the Joker would be dead by sundown today, and that in and of itself would ease a considerable number of worries. He glanced down at the clock and did a double-take. He had arrived early, but the convoy should have been here by now... They were actually over ten minuets late. And He knew for a fact that traffic was almost non-existent at the moment. He had been tuned into the GCPD frequency designated for the transport, but hadn't heard a thing. Concerned, he called Alfred, who had also bee monitoring the radio. Maybe there _had_ been an announcement but he had simply missed it.

"Alfred, the transport hasn't arrived yet. Have you heard anything about them getting held up?" He inquired.

"No sir." Alfred replied. "All is quiet on my end. Perhaps they are simply stalled in traffic?"

"There _is no_ traffic to speak of. I've seen five cars in as many minuets." Bruce told his butler, his concern growing with each passing second. "Something's wrong; I'm heading down the parkway to check it out."

"I _sincerely_ that you're just being paranoid." Alfred muttered in a worried tone.

"Me too Alfred. Me too."

Bruce hung up, then revved his vehicle into high gear and tore down the highway like a bat out of hell. His personal relationships aside, he generally wasn't the worrying type. But a GCPD prison transport being held up was _always_ a matter of concern, and the fact that this one was carrying the Joker shot the odds of a serious problem occurring up into the stratosphere. He just hadn't thought that it would happen a mere fifteen to twenty minuets out of town...

He checked his GPS and matched it to the route he had received via a hack from the GCPD servers. Like him, they had planned to avoid the main highway until the bridge, and had taken the back roads. Specifically, they had followed Highway six-sixty-seven for a long ways.

After only a few minuets of driving, Bruce found the transport on the side of the road. Or what was left of it at any rate. He gritted his teeth in rage as he noted the hole the transport had punched in the steel guardrail as it had crossed the opposing lanes before coming to rest in some thick underbrush at the edge of the woods between the Tuckahoe Wildlife Management Area and the Gotham Cape National Wildlife Refuge.

As he pulled behind it, his heart sank into his boots. He could tell that it had been seriously damaged, but he couldn't tell just _how_ seriously from his angle. He punched the release button, and the top of his vehicle slid open with a hiss, ejecting the Bat of Gotham into the warm afternoon light.

He quickly approached the derelict, noting with some relief that there was a patch of grass, albeit a small one, past the initial brush. That would make picking up the trail that much easier, if it was necessary at all. But as he rounded to the left side, his worst fears were confirmed.

The side of the transport had been blown out from the inside, and the rear of the vehicle was coated with blood. A quick glance inside showed him two dead cops in the front seats and two dead inmates in the holding area. Neither of the inmates was the Joker.

"Alfred! We have an emergency!" Bruce shouted into his radio. "The Joker has escaped, and he has a solid head start on me! I need you to send me the AAV right now!"

"I can't, it's still down for repairs!" He shouted back.

Bruce gritted his teeth in frustration. Of course it was, he had been tinkering with it just last night. What godawful timing. "Then I need you to get Clarke on the line and tell him what's going on while I check the scene, I _need air support!_ We can't let him get away again!"

"On it Master Bruce, I'll let you know the moment he's en route." Alfred reassured him before terminating the call. Bruce turned his attention to the slaughterhouse that had been a prison transport. The back was coated with blood, presumably from the two prisoners, though some of it _could_ have been the Joker's. Of course, without any way to test the DNA in the field, there was no way to be sure.

One of the prisoners, a large middle-eastern man, seemed to have been gutted by a large piece of shrapnel from the explosion. Apparently the blast hadn't been perfectly directional, and had backfired to an extent. That explained the condition of the second, caucasian prisoner. He had also been peppered with shrapnel, but the cause of death appeared to be a broken neck. As he was sitting in the corner as far from the blast as possible, Bruce guessed that the Joker had used the poor sod as a human shield. He wasn't really sure why the Joker hadn't chosen to blow the doors though, as this was the weakest structural point. Perhaps he simply hadn't been able to get at it for whatever reason.

But what really concerned Bruce was why the vehicle had gone off the road at all, and that was the primary question he wanted answered before he even tried to pick up the psychopath's trail. A quick glance into the front of the vehicle through the mesh window told him all he had needed to know.

There were two cops up front: A slim caucasian driver and a bulky african-american guard. Both were pale and beginning to go purple, indicating that they had died about twenty minuets ago. Also, both had shaved heads as was common for prison personnel and had no obvious signs of violence on them, until one looked at their faces.

He couldn't see the driver's face as it was buried in the steering wheel, but the passenger's face was twisted into a hideous grin that Bruce knew all too well, and he had little doubt that the driver was wearing the same smile. It was the Joker's 'laughing gas'. Now he could reconstruct the scene.

The Joker had somehow procured an explosive capable of destroying the armored wall of the transport from the inside as well as some of his infamous poisoned gas. When he decided the moment was opportune, he had thrown a tiny canister containing the gas between the compartments. As the gas was released into the driver's compartment, the guards had lost control and ran off the road. The gas would have began to leak into the holding compartment as well, but it seemed that the clown had managed to blow out the wall before things had gotten too bad in the back. The fact that the Joker could have more of the gas on him was a threat Bruce couldn't ignore, and he was glad that he had taken the time to check the scene before giving chase.

Bruce started slightly as Alfred's voice came in over the radio and shattered the silence. "I have confirmation that Clarke is en route and should be arriving momentarily. Happy hunting Sir." He said.

"Thanks Alfred." He replied. As he turned to leave, a hand shot out and grabbed his. He turned in shock to see the Arabic man weakly tugging at him, remarkably still alive. But one look at the destroyed intestines that had spilled from his body told Bruce that he wouldn't be for much longer.

"I-I tried to s-s-stop him..." He gasped out in a thick middle-eastern accent. 'Ah,' Bruce thought. ' _That's_ why the explosion was such a mess, and why the sadistic lunatic didn't blow the rear doors out.' This man had bravely stood in his way, and had given up his life doing it.

"I deserve this." The man continued. "B-but you... That m-m-man... _Everyone_ like him, t-they are the devil! You _must stop him_. _End him. End them all. Kill..._ " And then, with a gurgling sigh, he died.

"Peace be upon you friend." Bruce bid the man farewell with a respectful gesture. Then he quickly turned and made his way to the APCV and extracted a gas mask from a side compartment containing extra tools. Just as he finished attaching the mask, he saw a streak of red and blue out of the corner of his eye and heard the dull thud of its landing behind him.

"You're lucky, I had the day off." Clarke stated as Bruce turned to face him.

"We'll see about that 'lucky' part in a minuet." Bruce said flatly. "I assume Alfred briefed you?"

"Yeah, I know the long and short of it. Let's find the trail so I have a direction and I'll cover you from the air. We'll find him Bruce."

"We'd better." He muttered as the walked past his friend and back to the side of the ruined vehicle. A quick glance to the ground gave him a welcome bit of good news.

"The trail seems to start over here, a few feet away. The springy grass and dry ground don't make for much of a trail, but look here: Blood. It looks like he's wounded, which would explain the increased width of the trail. He must be stumbling, might be injured pretty seriously. Not a lot of blood, but it could be internal from the blast." Bruce surmised and Clarke nodded in mute agreement. Bruce knew that following physical trails wasn't really his thing, so he deferred to Bruce on the matter.

"Alright, I think we have-hold up. What's this?" Bruce said as he spied a dark green object a few feet further down the trail. The shade differed slightly from the grass, which made it stand out. He took a few steps forward and picked it up.

"It's a shemagh. Something I'd have expected to see on one of the guards, but they're both dead in the truck. Why is this all the way out here?" He pondered aloud.

"Maybe he looted the guards before he left?" Clarke suggested.

"And then just dropped the loot for us to find on his trail? Something's not right here. Clarke, take to the air and keep an eye out ahead. He must have known I'd come looking for him and might have planned an ambush."

"Got it." Clarke replied before taking off in a burst of wind and air. Bruce took a deep breath and the plunged forward on the trail, stopping periodically to make sure that he was still on the right track. The blood quickly vanished and the stride of the trail lengthened, indicating that the Joker was not as seriously injured as he had hoped. The trail still seemed wide though, which he found odd. Either the clown was still stumbling, or this was the trail of more than one person. But that didn't make any sense, as Bruce had visually accounted for everyone who was on that transport _except_ for the Joker. Could he have an accomplice? If Harleen hadn't defied him _and_ been crippled from the waist down, Bruce would have said yes. But as things currently stood, there was a pretty short list of people who would be willing to stick their neck out for him now.

Bruce continued on into the nearby woods and the trail became slightly more difficult to pick out in the thick shade cast by the boughs overhead. Difficult, but still readable. And so he continued, leaping over fallen logs and keeping an eye out for anything even slightly out of the ordinary. A loud crashing sound made him spin about, but it was only Clarke.

"The trees are too thick, I can't see a thing from up there." He told Bruce by way of explanation. "I'll be more useful down here." Bruce remembered him mentioning once that his x-ray vision was practically useless in nature. Something about how the chaos of so many living organisms overwhelmed him. And so he acknowledged Clarke with a nod, then continued on for a few more feet and through a bush before stopping dead in front of a small river.

"On to the other side?" Bruce's companion asked in a falsely cheerful voice. Bruce shook his head.

"No," He replied as he gazed downstream. "The trail ends here." Clarke followed his gaze and saw with a start what he had been talking about. There, face-down in the river and tangled in some waterlogged brambles, floated the corpse of the Joker. His hair had been shaved off, but the skinny body and ashen skin were a dead ringer for the clown.

"He died after about a mile. I guess he was injured pretty badly after all..." Bruce said as he checked his GPS. Upon reading their location, he chuckled slightly.

"What's funny?" Clarke asked, perplexed at his friend's suddenly good humor.

"I drove _right past here._ " Bruce replied, pointing off into the woods. "Tuckahoe road is just a few dozen meters north of here."

"Huh. If he'd made it, you might have run right into him."

"No, I was too early." Bruce stated. "Although running into him is _exactly_ what I would have done. Stay there, I'm pulling him out." Bruce jumped into the water and waded over to the body, shivering slightly as the cold water soaked his suit but remaining ready for any kind of attack or ambush. He was ninety-nine percent sure that the Joker was dead, but the years had taught him that it paid to be cautious when dealing with that maniac.

He reached the body and turned it over with a heave. As it turned face up, Bruce's heart froze. "It's not him..." He whispered.

"What?!" Clarke exclaimed.

" _It's not him!"_ He shouted. From behind, he had looked _identical_ to the Joker. Same wiry frame, same pallid complexion... Though the latter was obviously a result of death, and not normal for the boy.

"I know this kid." Bruce said. "Officer Samuels, joined GCPD a little over a year ago. He was assigned as the driver for- _the driver!"_

Clarke went pale as a sheet and took to the air without needing to hear another word. Bruce cursed himself for making such an amateurish mistake. He hadn't bothered to check the driver's body, blithely assuming that the person in the uniform was exactly who it should have been. Now, he finally knew _all_ of what had transpired.

The Joker had tossed the gas capsule into the front compartment the first chance he got, likely when one of the guards opened the slat and told him to stop making a ruckus or something after that fashion. The gas had killed the passenger but _not the driver._ He must have used his shemagha an impromptu gas mask and received a painful but non-lethal dose. The Joker had then tried to set his explosives on the door, but was blocked by the middle-eastern prisoner and had been forced to attach it haphazardly to the wall, blowing it out and using the other inmate as a human shield before killing him. Meanwhile, the driver had ejected himself from the crashed vehicle. Upon seeing the Joker escape, he dropped his shemagh and ran for the woods, clearly forgetting in the delirium cause by the gas that he was armed. The Joker had chased him all the way to the river, where he finally caught and murdered Samuels, likely to prevent him from calling in the wreck. Upon killing him, the Joker saw an opportunity and quickly swapped their outfits before tossing the Officer's body into the river. He had then backtracked to the transport, likely not knowing exactly where he was and needing the road to orient him.

'Then _I_ arrived.' Bruce thought as me raced breathlessly through the woods. The Joker must have seen him arrive, and knowing that he had only seconds to hide, had shut himself back in the cab and played dead. 'And I fell for it, hook line and sinker' he thought bitterly as he crashed through the last of the brush and quickly made his way to the wreck. Unsurprisingly, the driver's door was open and the seat empty. But these weren't the only changes to the scene. The words 'HA HA HA' had been written in blood on the windshield.

Bruce howled in fury as he raised his fist and punched the windshield, shattering the safety glass in one mighty blow. He was so angry with himself that he could throw up, and lashing out at the Joker's taunt did little to quell his boiling rage.

"Bruce? Are you there?" Clarke's voice came in on his radio.

"I'm here. What's the update?"

"I saw that he'd already moved on, so I checked the road. It looks like he jacked a car about a quarter mile south of the wreck, probably pretending to be an injured cop needing help. I'm on scene and just called it in." Clarke reported in the crisply professional tone that Bruce had come to call his 'journalist voice'.

"Stay put, I'm on my way." He shot back.

"No, wait-" Clarke began to protest before Bruce hung up on him. Descriptions wouldn't cut it, he needed to examine the scene himself. He jumped into the APCV and pulled a tight u-turn, tearing down the street in the opposite direction. As he drove, he called Alfred to update him on the situation.

"Alfred, I've got bad news: The Joker got away, and he might be heading for Harleen. Tell Tim to head there asap and keep watch over her. They shaved the Joker's head before transport, so he shouldn't bother looking for the green hair. And tell Tim that he can't hesitate; if the Joker makes a move for her, he won't be taking her hostage. He'll kill her where she lies. So tell Tim to bring that TAVOR he keeps saying he doesn't have with him, and that he has my full permission to shoot the Joker dead the moment he shows up!"

"I... Understood Sir." Alfred replied, clearly taken aback at the brutally direct command. Bruce terminated the call just as he came upon the scene, and sorrow cascaded over him like a pounding waterfall. He had expected a body, not a massacre.

Aside from Clarke, who stood watch over the horror like a grieving angel, the scene contained three bodies that lay strewn in gory puddles beside the road. Bruce exited the vehicle, walked forward a few steps, then dropped to his knees. The corpses told a story and he couldn't help but read it, even if his very soul screamed out in protest.

They were a family: A man, a woman, and a small girl of about eight years. The Joker had likely forced them out of the car at gunpoint, the driver first. Then he had made them kneel, the two parents facing their frightened child. The man's throat had likely been slit first, thus removing the biggest threat and leaving the weakest to toy with. He could imagine the frightened man pleading with the gun-toting psychopath to spare his family, as well as the wails of grief from the remaining two as they watched their husband and father slaughtered like a pig in front of them. Then he had broken the woman's knees, crippling her.

He almost couldn't bear to know anymore, but the detective in him continued even as bile rose in his throat and he fought the urge to vomit. Even after all these years, it never got any easier. Perhaps this kept him human, but it did little to keep him sane. Dent had told him privately that the Joker had always hidden his true cruelty from Harleen. He didn't know why, but he was glad the she had never seen the sort of things that he was seeing now.

After breaking her mother's legs, he had gone to her horrified daughter and... Slit her mouth into a gruesome grin like his own. Bruce could almost hear ghost of the girl's mother, screaming out in protest as her little baby was mutilated before her very eyes. The devil had then gone to the mother and cut her throat, orphaning the girl as she writhed in agony from her wounds. And for his crowning horror, he had snapped the child's neck, wrenching it completely around to her back. Even when fleeing for his life, the despicable madman still found time for inhuman cruelty.

Bruce rose to his feet, noting as he did that Clarke was deliberately directing his sickened gaze away from the scene, looking _anywhere_ but at the slaughtered civilians. Unable to bear it any longer, Bruce strode away from the scene and into the nearby trees. After about a dozen meters, he dropped to his knees and violently vomited onto the forest floor, weeping bitterly as his guts clenched and spasmed. Tears of grief for that family, for the dead cops, for Harleen and Jason and Barbra and the hundreds of innocent souls he had failed to protect over the years. Tears of anger at his own weakness and stupidity that had caused all these evils, no matter how indirectly. Tears of shame for his failure and tears of disgust and hatred for the Joker and all the unrepentantly wicked men like him.

With a shaking hand, he wiped his mouth, feeling his cowl as he did so. With an enraged howl, he tore it off his head and threw it to the ground. Then he fell back in defeat, sitting on a fallen log.

"My puddle's to the left." Clarke's voice came from behind him in an obvious attempt at gallows humor. Bruce wasn't biting. He continued to sit silently, his body still quaking. Clarke approached and sat beside him.

"After all these years, all you've seen... It still get's to you." He stated gently. Bruce slowly nodded.

"Not always. Not during the fight or the chase. Not when I'm needed. But sooner or later... It always catches up with me."

"And they call _me_ the boy-scout." Clarke said as he placed a friendly hand on his grieving comrade's shoulder. "You truly are the kindest man I've ever known Bruce."

"No I'm not." Bruce denied, his voice filled with scorn and self-loathing. "I'm a fool, a _monster_ , _a dumb animal._ I protect the evil and leave the innocent to suffer and die at their hands!"

"You didn't do this Bruce-" Clarke began before he was cut off by his friend.

" _The hell I didn't!"_ He shouted. Then he gazed down at his quaking hands, at his heaving chest and the broad symbol that adorned it. "This used to mean something Clarke... I believed that I could be a champion for the people, a guardian for the innocent against the darkness that preyed on them. But how many are dead today because I captured vile men and women who would otherwise have been killed? How many more have suffered? Good God Clarke, where did I go so wrong? How could I have placed the lives of those devils before the good people of Gotham? How could I have lost my way so completely..."

"I guess..." Bruce's friend began, speaking slowly and thoughtfully. "I guess it's because you believe in people. That people can change if given a chance, like Ms. Isley or Dent or Ms. Quinzel."

"Harleen..." Bruce whispered. "I knew her before she transferred to Arkham you know. She worked for a few months at Blackgate beforehand. She was such a sweet girl... And that Goddamn lunatic ruined her life. Now she's a psychological train-wreck and may never walk again. If I had done the right thing and killed him when I should have, he never would have had the chance to hurt her... Or Barbra for that matter.

Bruce turned his bloodshot gaze to his friend's face. "Selina Kyle turned her life around without my ever having to capture her. Harleen is changing her ways after only one real chance. Isley after two. Even Dent only needed two real wake-up calls to get his act together. But people like Williams or Jones, like Crane or Tetch or... The Joker. They will _never_ change, no matter how many chances they receive. And showing them mercy over and over and _over again_ just gets more innocent people killed, more innocent lives shattered."

Clarke nodded slowly, his lips pursed in thought. "So... What will you do?" He asked after a long pause. Rather than answer directly, Bruce waited for a moment before speaking again, opting to share a tale from his past.

"You know, when I first took up the cowl, I was so _angry,_ but also so idealistic. So... Full of piss and vigor. I was going to be the ultimate shield against evil, a paragon of virtue, Gotham's hero... No, its _savior._ I would fight for the people, but I was _so far above_ the lowly criminals that preyed upon them! No blood would ever stain my hands!" He chuckled more than a little bitterly at the memory. "I was a fool, and it didn't take me long to realize that it was impossible to fight in the filth and blood and stinking entrails of the criminal world without getting dirty yourself. I even used to check up on the criminals I hospitalized, but I stopped after I realized how many never pulled through. I imagine it's not much better for you."

Clarke chortled softly before replying. "Actually, it might be a little worse."

"Yeah, you flick a guy too hard and his head flies off." Bruce joked as he flashed his signature lop-sided grin.

"Hey, that only happened once and... I'd had a few drinks beforehand." He replied in mock innocence. Bruce laughed out loud at the man's absurd reply and feeling the grief and horror of the past few minuets wash away from him like caked blood and filth cleansed from the body by a hot, refreshing shower. That was just the kind of guy that Clarke was, always bringing hope to the heart and a smile to the face. How odd it was that just a few years ago, he had pinned Clarke to the ground with an armored boot on his throat, ready to butcher him like a wild animal. Yet now he loved him deeply, and counted him as one of his dearest friends. As for what had happened between them that night... Well, there was an unspoken agreement between them not to discuss the matter.

"I guess what I'm saying is... We kill people. A lot of people really, but almost never on purpose. We pull our punches, always try to 'bring them in alive'. But it's the average Joe thugs who always end up paying with their lives, while people who _really_ cause all this death and destruction always seem to live on to fight... And rape and maim and kill another day. But no more. I will _not_ retire and leave these animals to wreak havoc after I'm gone. Before I go, I will hunt these villains down, and I will _end them."_ Bruce gazed expectantly at his friend and was surprised when no rebuttal ensued.

"Well? Not going to try to talk me out of it?" He prodded.

A tiny smile flitted across Clarke's face before he replied. "I know you well enough to trust your judgment Bruce. I know that you're a good man, a _great_ man; and that you'll do what you believe is right regardless of what anyone says about it. And honestly... I happen to agree with you. You have to draw the line somewhere, and sooner or later the cost of sparing these people's lives far outweighs any possible benefit. The world certainly wouldn't miss them, and a great many people would sleep easier knowing that they are safely underground. All I ask... Is that, when you do this, make sure you're doing it for the right reasons. Not for revenge or hate... Do it because it's right. Do it for the people."

"What, so I don't go to hell?" Bruce asked sardonically.

"Ah, and he finally comes out as a closet-christian!" Clarke joked. "Honestly didn't think that you believed in hell!"

"I don't." Bruce replied dryly. "Or heaven for that matter. But believe in God and... Souls I suppose. Life after death. The divine potential of people. Not really sure what that makes me though."

Clarke thought on that for a moment "I think it makes you human." He replied.

"Well coming from an alien, that means almost nothing." Bruce replied with a smirk. They both laughed at that, but Bruce's laugh was cut short as he clutched at his suddenly aching belly.

"Speaking of being human," Clarke began with a gesture to his friend's stomach "Ulcers are acting up again?" The pained man nodded sullenly, and Clarke sized the opportunity. "It's a good thing you're going clean. You can't push yourself this hard forever, you're not Superman."

Bruce met the would-be comedian's shit-eating grin with a look that would have made anyone else curl into the fetal position and cry for their mother. "I _really_ want to punch you in the face right now." He growled irritably. Clarke shook Bruce's shoulder as he laughed out loud, and after a moment Bruce joined in until the woods rang with their mirth. Just then they heard the sirens as the police arrived. Bruce stood up, snatching up his cowl as he did and dusting it off.

"Alright, let's do this." He told Clarke as he replaced his cowl and they began to slowly walk back to the road. "But don't get any ideas about heading straight home after we deliver our report." He continued. "With the Joker on the loose, Harleen will be in constant danger, and standard witness protection won't be any match for him. So... I'm going to take her under my personal protection. I can't see any other solution."

Clarke's eyebrows shot up in surprise at the notion. "And how exactly are you going to do _that?"_ He inquired.

"I'll have her under guard twenty-four-seven until she finishes her therapy. Once she's out, I guess suppose the easiest way would be to hire her. But this will have to be handled delicately. That's why you're staying with me a bit longer. I know just the person to help us out, but they might not be too thrilled to see us, and I'd rather avoid a fight if I can..."

 **NOTE:** Thanks to all my readers for being so patient, as this chapter took a bit longer than usual! However, as a special treat, I put a LOT of research into this one. You can now check on Google Maps and see EXACTLY where Gotham is supposed to be, as well as many of the other locations listed in this chapter! If you wanted, you could even digitally follow the route the "Batmobile" or the APCV took and see the very real landmarks that Batman noticed on his drive! Also, if you're curious you can look up "TAVOR" and see what Robin was denying owning. Also, you'll noticed that while Bruce rarely cries, the two recent instances where he has both involved the almost unfathomable cruelty of the Joker. No one gets under Bruce Wayne's skin quite like the Joker...


	7. Chapter 7

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Seven**

The air in the the forest was light and refreshing that evening, in stark contrast to the darkness that quickly enveloped the trees, which rose like the pillars of some mighty cathedral to Gaia. And beneath those hallowed boughs, a lithe a figure passed quietly from shadow to shadow, seemingly as much at home in the woods as any wild creature. That figure was former botanist Dr. Pamela Isley, known to most people now as Poison Ivy. Though admittedly few would have recognized the infamous temptress and terrorist, garbed as she was in a dirty, plain dress and her crimson hair a tangled mass of twigs and bits of leaves. But in spite of her scruffy appearance, she had never felt more at peace than she did within those woods.

Ivy paused for a moment in her hunt and raised her face to the covered sky, inhaling deeply the cool evening air and its panoply of delicate scents and fleeting sounds. The smell of the needles, sap and moss were a feast for her nostrils while hear ears were pleasantly assaulted with the sounds of the leaves that crunched beneath her feet or rustled on the cold November winds. Surely, this was heaven. This forest and her little cottage nestled within it, far away from the noxious fumes, cold concrete and ceaseless clamor of the city. Her only regret was how little contact she had had with her best friend since she had settled here nearly two years ago.

'Of course' she thought ruffly, 'That's hardly _just_ my fault.' And that was true; Harley had become ever more reclusive over the past two years, focusing on her obsession with the Joker to the exclusion of all else. And on her end, every effort to convince the girl that he was wrong for her (or frankly _anyone_ for that matter) had fallen on def ears. Ivy had wished on many occasions that the Joker would just fuck Harley's brains out already, even if the idea of her friend giving it up after so long to the Clown made her gag. But at least that way the glamour might finally wear off, and she would see him for the train-wreck that he was. But of course, recent word had informed her that Harley and the Joker were no longer an item... But the means by which this had came to be made her blood run alternately cold and flaming hot and the mere thought of it.

As she recalled the news she had received only that morning from an anonymous tip, a new sound drifted to her on the breeze; one which made her lip curl in disgust: Laughter. Not that she had any problem with laughter itself, but laughter meant people. People in _her_ woods, in _her_ home. The Bellepain State Forest was a popular tourist attraction, but at well over twenty-one-thousand acres it was also enormous. More than large enough to conceal one woman and a small cottage. But even so, there had been numerous close calls with campers who wandered to far into the dark recesses of the forest, and each one angered her. The temptation to ward off the interlopers with violence was strong, but she knew this would only draw unwanted attention, and she was far too clever for that.

So instead, she had adopted a policy of terrorizing the tourists when they drew too close, and it had thus far worked like a charm. Stories had grown legion of a witch living in the woods, or perhaps the ghost of a witch like in that crappy 'found-footage' movie from the late nineties. In fact, she had even recreated a scene from said film for one pair of amorous young campers by lashing together a few stick figures around their campsite and leaving a rag full of gruesome squirrel remains outside the door of their tent. She snorted with laughter as she remembered how they had screamed, cried, prayed and then screamed some more. The woman had actually pissed herself with fright! The whole scene had been so pathetic, that Ivy had almost lost all desire to hurt them. Almost.

Weighing her options, she decided that simple avoidance was the wiser course on this occasion and slunk silently back into the dark. After all, she had already risked enough delivering her gifts to Harley in the hospital today; she was sure that a man in the waiting room and at least one doctor had recognized her despite her hood and glasses. The last anyone had heard of her, she had been on a one-way flight to Brazil, and she'd prefer that the self-righteous jerk-offs in Gotham not know that she was living so near by. This was doubly true of the Asshole-in-Chief, Batman. He would surely waste no time in dragging her back to her cell, and that was one place she flat out _refused_ to go again. They always kept a room open for her in Arkham: a cold, sterile lifeless void that humans apparently considered 'livable'. With a shudder, she recalled her time in that hell... The suffocating feeling of being closed in with nothing but stone and steel around her and not even a single ray of sunshine to drink in. How many days had she spent screaming and clawing at the walls like any other lunatic? How many times had she begged and pleaded for even a single flower to tend, only to be refused at every turn? And finally, how many nights had she spent beneath her bunk rather than on it, curled into a ball, rocking back and forth and wishing that death would descend and end her suffering? She'd never allow herself to be taken back there. She'd rather die. But even so, she was willing to risk it if it meant Harls knowing that she wasn't alone.

Ivy decided to do one more sweep to the west before turning in for the night. After all, the hunt today had been long and arduous, and the trip to the city had cost her precious time. With the first real blasts of winter coming down from the icy north, the mushrooms that she prized so highly for her experiments her growing scarcer every day. And today had been particularly grim as she had barely managed to gather more than a quarter of a bushel. She had begun growing them in an aquaponic system in her basement, but it was still a long way from producing the volume she needed. Not to mention the fact that the majority of her basement that wasn't devoted to storage or equipment was taken up by the aquaponics systems that fed her, thus enabling her to live almost without any need for the outside world. Though once she succeeded in transcending the pitiful, ape-like form she had been born into she would no longer require anything beyond the radiant sun for nourishment. But some days, such glorious rebirth seemed like a hazy dream... And today was definitely one of those days.

As the last rays of daylight faded beneath the horizon and an eerie twilight gripped the now silent wood, she came across a promising growth at the stump of a long-dead tree and grinned triumphantly. It wasn't the largest that she had found that day, but it was certainly in the upper brackets and would make the perfect note to end the day's labors on. She knelt down to collect the fungi, then froze like a blossom in a winter squall as an all-to-familiar voice spoke from the shadows behind her.

"Miss Pamela Isley." It said. That voice... So cold, harsh and ruthless. Malice masked by machine, it represented everything she hated about humanity and the world she had left behind.

"Batman... And what brings you to my neck of the woods? Surely a man like you can't be _that_ lonely." She said as she rose slowly to her feet, speaking with a seductive confidence that she didn't really feel. Aside from the utter dismay that she felt and having been tracked down in her own forest, her sexual overtones were purely for show as she would rather pleasure herself with a hunting knife than let that man inside her. As she neared her full height, she brushed her hair back in a flirtatious manner and carefully removed one of her earrings whilst doing so, concealing it in her palm. Though they appeared to be pearls, the small orbs actually contained enough nitroglycerin to blow even Batman to hell. Or barring that, to knock him flat on his miserable ass.

"I need your assistance Ms. Isley, with something of a personal nature." The thug answered from atop the small hillock to her rear, still lording over her like the monstrous brute he was. She smiled winningly as she turned to face him completely, her stance deceptively open and relaxed.

"Is that so? Something personal hmmm? Well I like the sound of that. And so polite and... _Smooth._ But I think you know that I'll always be Poison Ivy to _you!"_ By the time she screamed the last word, the tiny capsule had already left her hand and was flying towards her foe. He reacted, but too late. The container struck the ground at his feet and exploded, blowing him backwards in a deadly spray of rock, dirt and twigs that flew like bolts through the air and impaled themselves in earth and trees alike.

Ivy was already running by the time he hit the ground, rushing through the trees like a deer fleeing from a lion. Her pulse pounded in her veins and the frigid wind howled in her ears as she fled through the darkness, dodging trees and leaping over obstacles as she made her way back to her cottage. If she could just get there, she would be safe, even from him. So close...

"Ivy, wait!" Another familiar voice called out to her in her flight. This one wasn't masked, but rather left arrogantly open. Once upon a time it had belonged to the Batman's sidekick, Robin. That was until the stupid boy's ego had grown too great for the role and he had adopted a new, solo moniker: Nightwing.

Without so much slowing in her stride, she ripped her other earring painfully off and threw it in the direction of the shout.

" _Jesus Christ!"_ He swore after the blast, his voice fading into the distance behind her. 'I hope it scrambled both your eggs you little birdshit' she thought with a satisfied grin. And then she saw it through the trees: Home. 'Just a few more feet!' she thought as she frantically sprinted for the door. Just a few more feet to safety...

But when she was only a few yards from the door, a dark streak crashed to the earth between her and her sanctuary, sending a wave of dust and leaves into her face. She raised her arm to stop the worst of it and screeched to halt, then lowered it and stared in abject horror as her hopes were shattered.

Between her and her home stood Superman, his arms folded imperiously across his chest and his gaze leaving no doubts about her chances of taking shelter now.

'So this is it.' She thought bitterly. She had no illusions of refuge now. They had brought the big guns, and nothing she had would so much as scratch him. She drew a long, sickle-shaped blade from the folds of her dress. She wasn't going back to Arkham, but she wasn't going out without a fight either.

"Hey Ivy, it's-whoa!" Nightwing exclaimed as he attempted to approach her nonchalantly from behind, only to have her swipe at him with her knife. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that Batman had also caught up to her. She was surrounded.

"Come on you bastards!" She hollered as she lashed out in every direction, frantically trying to stave off her attackers like a cornered animal. Then she noticed Superman striding calmly towards her. He knew that she couldn't harm him, and clearly meant to disarm her. In a desperate gambit, she brought the knife up to her own throat, the tip pressing so hard into her skin that she started to bleed. That stopped the Boy-scout in his tracks.

"You'll never take me alive!" She snarled in defiance.

"Relax." The Boy-scout told her, holding both hands up in a condescending expression of reassurance, as though she were a child or dog to be thus mollified.

"Fuck you!" She spat. "I'm never going back, you hear me?! I won't be left in the cold and dark to wither and rot... I'll die first!"

"We're just here to talk. It's about Harleen." Batman told her.

"It's _Harley_ you egotistical prick." She snapped. "And if you think dropping her name will get me to lower my guard, you're sadly mistaken." He sighed with what sounded like genuine disappointment, glancing at his friends before locking his gaze on her once more.

"I see. You need a gesture. An... Olive branch." He stated in resignation.

"No, _don't do it!"_ Nightwing cried, sounding genuinely alarmed.

"We need her help, and I can hardly keep it a secret if my plan is going to work. And she _has_ spent the last two years proving that she's no longer a threat. Besides, I'd be very much surprised if she hasn't already guessed."

Ivy stared forward in dumbfounded surprise. 'Was this really happening?' she wondered. If he was really saying what she _thought_ he was... What could he possibly need her for enough to risk such a gesture?

"And if she changes her mind and comes after you?" Nightwing continued in his vain attempt to talk his mentor down.

"Then it's my risk to take." Batman declared with a note of finality. And without another word, he locked his gaze with Ivy's, reached up and slowly removed his cowl. Her eyes widened in shock, but only for a moment. He was right, she had long ago guessed the identity of the vigilante known as 'Batman'. That said, it was one thing to guess it. Seeing the truth revealed so nakedly in front of her was another thing entirely. And to take such a risk for Harley's sake...

She lowered her weapon, but still kept it clenched tightly at her side.

"Alright," She said cautiously. "Talk."

* * *

The last rays of the golden sunset streamed through the eastern-facing window as Harley awoke in a fog, feeling like she was rising from the bottom of a deep pool. The medication they had given her left her groggy and disoriented, but at least she wasn't in any real pain. She did notice though that her feet itched horribly in their casts.

 _Her feet... Itched._ She scarcely dared to believe it. After a moment of hesitation, she tried to wiggle her toes, and for the first time since that horrible night, _they moved_.

" _My God..._ " she whispered awe. Then she lost all control and began to laugh and cry in equal portions, tears of joy pouring from her eyes. She had never imagined that something so simple could be so wondrous, but the mere fact that she could move her pale little toes filled her heart with so much joy and gratitude that she felt she would fly into a million rapturous pieces.

"God, if you're out there... _Thank you. Thank you s-so f-fucking much!"_ She prayed tearfully, and upon realizing her gross sacrilege she laughed even harder, until her jubilant sounds echoed off the walls and surrounded her in a cacophony of merry thanksgiving.

Once she had relaxed a bit she was able to take note of the table to her right, and was dumbfounded to see it overflowing with flowers, cards and candies. Curious, she snatched the closest card from its place with a bunch of sunflowers and a large box of expensive candies and read it.

"Dear Ms. Quinzel,

I just wanted to congratulate you on your successful surgery and... Ah what the hell, way to go girl! I know it might seem a bit awkward, but I'd love a chance to speak with you once you get out of that place. And don't worry, Daddy's gotten over being mad about the 'dentist incident'. We're both really impressed by what you did, and hope that this will be the start of a new and happy chapter in your life.

Your (hopefully!) Friend, Barbra Gordon."

And there it was, Harley was thrown unceremoniously right back into full astonishment mode. Barbra Gordon sent her a card and flowers _and candy and..._ Wanted to be her _friend?! What the hell?!_ It seemed so unlikely and yet so... Touching. She smiled wistfully as she replaced card. She decided on the spot that, when she worked up the courage, she would go see Ms. Gordon. Or was it Barbra to her now? Maybe Barbie? She cackled at the thought. But still, it simply wouldn't feel right until she apologized to the girl, and that would take some working up to.

Her gaze settled on the next nearest group of gifts, and she grinned from ear to ear when she saw the flowers. Aztec Gilia. She knew who _these_ were from, and a look at the bag of candies next to them confirmed it. It was filled to the brim with all her cheep favorites: Atomic Fireballs, Warheads, Lemonheads and Bit-o-Honey's. But the majority were her favorite, Laughy-Taffy. I mean, who could hate a candy that was both tasty _and_ came with jokes on the wrappers? Sure they were always stupid, but as far as Harley was concerned that was part of the fun!

She grabbed the card and began to read:

"Hey Harls,

I heard the whole story... Sorry that it took so long for the news to reach me; I'm living seriously under the radar. I tried to visit you in person, but they've got a whole fucking SWAT team guarding your door. I think I even saw a sniper on the roof, but that might have been my imagination. Anyway, I hope you like the candy! I'll see if I can sneak you my DS and a few games later, they'll call the bomb squad if I try it now. And when they let you out, I want you to know that you can crash with me for as long as you need to. I'll always be here for you, no matter what. Be strong Harls, and I'll see you soon.

Hugs and kisses, Red.

P.S: Here's a number you can reach me at to keep me posted or whenever you need to chat. Do you still have a cellphone? If not, let me know and I'll smuggle one to you too. But for the love of God, don't use it in front of anyone! They'll think it's part of an escape plan... Which is kind of true, but whatever."

Harley laughed again and hugged the card, wishing the she could transfer even a smidgen of her love through the paper to her friend. She felt a sudden rush of guilt at having alienated her recently, and swore that she never would in the future. Friends like Red were one in a million, and she would never take that for granted again.

That left only two more cards, and she opted for the suspiciously bi-toned one that sat alone and apart from the others. As she cracked it open, a small piece of paper fluttered onto her chest. She decided that she'd figure out what it was in a moment and read:

"Dear Ms. Quinzel,

I simply wanted to wish you well on your way to what I'm sure will be a speedy and full recovery and thank you for your testimony today. I don't believe there was a single soul who wasn't touched by it, I know I was. I also wanted to inform you that I spoke with the judge regarding your future. He decided that, in light of your testimony, you would be sentenced to six months of psychiatric therapy; which period will likely coincide with your physical therapy. Upon completion of your therapy and assuming the therapist signs off on you, you will be released on probation where you will complete a further three months of community service providing therapy to other patients in the hospital who have suffered traumatic ordeals. This will also serve as a good first step to reinstating your license and allowing you to build a brighter future for yourself.

Best regards, Harvey Dent.

P.S: Since I cannot legally compensate witnesses for their testimony, consider the enclosed as a gift from one ex-lunatic rebuilding his life to another."

Harley set the card back onto the table with a smile and picked up the piece of fallen paper. It turned out to be a check... For twenty-thousand dollars. Her jaw dropped as she read the amount. She knew he had been doing well for himself, but holly ball-pits... When she finally came to, she shut the check safely into the card whispering "God-bless you Harvey Dent!" as she did do. With that done, there was just one group left: A large box of what looked like obscenely expensive chocolates, along with a bouquet of yellow roses and a finely embroidered card. She opened it and began to read...

"Dear Harleen (can I get away with calling you that yet?)

Congratulations on your victories today... both of them. Upon hearing your tale, I knew that there was far more to you than your breathtaking beauty. Few people could have gone through what you did and lived, let alone had the courage to face what you did today. It's pretty clear that you don't think much of yourself, even after today... But _I do,_ and I know I'm not the only one. There's a fire in your heart Harleen, a bright and magnificent flame that will shine in radiant splendor long after your earthly beauty has faded away. Your friends see it, everyone in court heard it today, and I saw it flickering deep in your eyes when we spoke. And no matter how much you doubt or even hate yourself, I have no doubt in my mind that this spark, when put to a righteous course, will burn away every obstacle between you and your dreams. Between becoming the woman you _want_ to be, the woman _I know you can be_. So smile, laugh, and revel in the joy that awaits you; and know that you'll have a friend in me if you need it. From this day forward, I harbor no ill will and wish you only the best.

Bruce Wayne.

P.S: Told you you were a fighter. *Wink*

Harley smiled again, tears of gratitude springing once more to her eyes. Gratitude for forgiveness so readily offered, for love freely given and for a chance to really make it count. And as she swept all the cards from the table and held them close to her pounding heart, she promised that she would do just that. As bad as she had been, she would be even better. All the wrong she had done, she would atone for. And all the love she had received, she would return a thousand fold...


	8. Chapter 8

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Eight**

 **January 1st**

" _Five... Four... Three... Two... One... Happy New-Years!"_

Shouts of traditional jubilation shook the halls of the Wayne Industries Penthouse, located on the top two floors of the company building proper. It was here that all the company's parties took place, and the New Year's Eve celebration was no exception. Delectable horderves were served and consumed in such quantities that made a proper feast moot at this point, and were accompanied by such a steady flow of rich champagnes and wines that the party-goers had little doubt that tonight would be a great boon for Gotham's taxi services. Several couples had already been spotted engaging in amorous liaisons in out-of-the-way corners of the penthouse, but these were politely ignored. After all, there was little fun to be had interrupting one's co-workers in the act. Far better to feign ignorance for the evening and then harass them endlessly about it for the next month or two.

Bruce shouted along with everyone else, then swept the beautiful young woman next to him into his arms and kissed her with such passion that she swooned into his arms. It was their first New-Years kiss, and a moment he vowed to treasure. Sure, Caitlin and he had their problems... But it was moments like this, when all the world faded away and there was nothing and no one but them, that all those petty issues and arguments crumbled and blew away like so much chaff. Of course, he had known when they began their romance a few months ago that she could never be allowed to know the truth about him... Which in turn meant that she could never possibly love him for who he really was. But if that was the price he needed to pay in order to fill his empty home, then he would happily pay it. Besides, he had long ago accepted that a wealthy man such as himself would never be seen as anything more than the sum total of his resources, so there was little point in wishing otherwise.

The crowd's chanting brought him back down to earth, and it didn't take long to figure out what they wanted.

"Speech! Speech! Speech!" They repeated. Yes, the annual feel-good address that was expected of him as the company owner and figurehead. They wouldn't be disappointed this year however, as he had something a little special planned this time.

Bruce grudgingly untangled himself from his lover's arms, kissing her briefly once more before he made his way to the raised stage which was largely occupied by an obscenely expensive band orchestra combo, as well as a number of well-reputed singers. On the way, he passed a smiling and slightly tipsy Lucius Fox.

"You know the drill Mr. Wayne." He said with a wry smile. "I tried to take a bullet for you this year, but they wouldn't have it. Must be because I'm boring."

"Nah, it's because you're black." Bruce teased with a wicked grin. Lucius laughed uproariously and slapped him hard on the back as he passed and ascended the tiers to the stage. Bruce stood before the microphone and waved his hands gently, shushing the mass and deliberately appearing significantly more drunk than he actually was.

"Ladies, Gentleman, and whatever else has been chewing a hole in our budget tonight, Happy New Year!" The crowed laughed and applauded. He paused and waited for the din to settle before continuing.

"Yes, I'm drunk and no, I never intended to do this sober. Unfortunately, it appears that the illustrious Mr. Fox," He nodded in his CEO's general direction. "Was unable to speak in my place. However, I suppose I can't complain too much as I haven't given a speech all year." His employees and board members laughed out loud, though whether this was due to politeness or a state of excessive inebriation he couldn't say. Likely a combination of the two.

"Now, normally I would get up here and give a rousing speech about what a great year we've had, even if it's a bald-faced lie, and encourage us to strive ever onward in the coming year! However, I have something a little out of the ordinary planned for you this year. Something that I have chosen to announce tonight for two reasons: First, I can hardly imagine a group more entitled to hearing the news first than you, the future of Wayne industries. Second, There's only one reporter here tonight." A brief twitter of laughter rippled through the room, but it died away in an instant. Every gaze was upon him. 'Good.' He thought. With that level of attention they wouldn't miss a word, and the faster this news spreads, the better.

"So without further ado and with the acknowledgment that I'm announcing this absurdly early, I have decided to throw my hat in the ring for Governor of New Jersey in the next election."

The silence that gripped the hall so so absolute that one could have heard a pin dropped on the roof outside. Caitlin in particular seemed completely floored by the news. Bruce silently hoped, upon seeing her expression, that her reaction would be a positive one. Outside of her profession as a lawyer, her ability to keep secrets was simply dismal, so obviously telling her in advance was out of the question. It was a given that she would have been horrified if she knew the true motives behind this maneuver, but without knowledge of his 'nocturnal adventures' she wouldn't have the context to assume this was anything beyond ambition on his part. And he knew her well enough by this point to know that she was an ambitious woman, so the slight of his not telling her first would most likely be forgiven.

After a moment of stunned silence, the crowed positively _erupted_ in applause, cheers, hoots and hollers. The reception was so positive that the only person Bruce could see who was _not_ cheering was Gotham City New reporter Vicki Vale, who was at that moment doing her best to plow through the masses in what was clearly a futile attempt to get an interview. After a few seconds of this however, she gave up and continued recording. Bruce had to wait nearly a full minuet for the ruckus to die down that time. Then he drew a deep breath and began to speak once more.

"Well I'm glad to see that you all think this is such a good idea!" He told them with a charming smile. "And I suppose it really would be easy to think that this is coming out of nowhere, but I assure you that it isn't." He paused a moment for effect, then plunged on.

"In the past, I was... Well, to put it frankly, I was a spoiled rich kid. I wasted time and money on frivolities, dumped boatloads of cash into bleeding-heart charities without bothering to see how they were spending it, learned more about liquor than any man who doesn't own a bar has any right to know, and engaged in so many passionate affairs that my doctor takes my clean bill of health as proof that there is a God." More laughter. 'So far so good.' He thought. With every clever line, every witty, self depreciating joke, he enchanted them and set their minds afire. The more entertained, and later moved, they were, the more pervasive the tale would become. It would fall from Gotham's blinding stars and sink into its deepest pits...

"But even in all this indulgence, I was not unaware of the pain that gripped my home, and the state at large. How could I be? I myself was orphaned on our cold streets, and it wasn't long before I saw my pain reflected in the faces of so many other children. And so, with the help of Mr. Fox here, I established the Wayne foundation to care for orphaned children like myself. I even took a few into my home and raised them as, if not my own children, at least dear friends who's future I became deeply invested in."

"And still it wasn't enough. An appalling number of orphans came from criminal violence, a blight on our city that just seems to grow worse every single year. And to be fair, we haven't stood idly by and accepted this. New Jersey ranks ninth in state police spending, up a slot from last year. Gotham city itself spends more than any other city on law enforcement, more than the next two highest spenders _combined_. We have the harshest gun-control laws in the country and some of the most brutal penalties for using or trading in illicit drugs. Some of the highest taxes and most restrictive market regulations in the nation, and in fact the _world._ And what has it gotten us? More crime. More rape. More blood. More orphans. Little girls and... Boys who weep over the cold corpses of their parents."

As he scanned the room, Bruce saw that there didn't seem to be a single person who was unaffected by his words. A fair number of people were already silently crying, the shimmering tears that ran down their cheeks. Perhaps they were orphans like him, or had loved ones who were. It was very common in Gotham and was extremely possible. He was becoming a little choked up himself, as the words he spoke conjured images of his own parents laying maimed and dead in pools of their own blood, pools that spread and spread until it seemed as though everyone's world would drown in their blood, and not just his. With a shuttering breath, he regained his composure.

"For years, I wondered how I could fight this evil, wondered what I could do to save my home. I saw vigilante heroes like the Batman and Nightwing, Robin and Batgirl and Huntress. I saw how they fought and bled for this city; and though it slowed the tide of horrors, their efforts could not stem it. I saw our brave heroes in uniform like Police Commissioner Gordon, Officer Bullock and _so many others_ who fight on the brighter side of the law, who get out there day after day after _day,_ fighting a never-ending war to purify our city. And no matter how many times their hopes are dashed, they wake up, put on that uniform and march out to battle once more. Yet even all this hasn't saved us."

"And so it was that I found myself in the first of many conferences on the issue; this one with Commissioner Gordon. I asked him the same questions I asked everyone else I consulted: Where do these criminals come from? Why are they so powerful, their influence so pervasive? And why does there _always_ seem to be _more of them?_ The answers are complicated and varied, but I believe I can sum it up in a single word. And that word is 'Opportunity." Bruce carefully suppressed his desire to laugh and spoil the mood as he saw how positively elated Ms. Vale looked to be the only reporter there to record his words. Rabid was the perfect word. He had decided well before the party that he would be giving her the exclusive scoop on the campaign. He liked her, admired her tenacity and her dedication to gathering and releasing the cold hard facts rather than gossip or propaganda; a disturbingly rare trait in today's environment. Political correctness and a seemly obsessive desire to infantalize the population at large had created a veritable landmine of censorship in the arena of public discourse, but he knew that she put no stock in such regressive notions. It was for that reason that he had stepped in to rescue her career on more than one occasion, and why he had seen to it that she received an invitation to tonight's festivities.

"Crime, as a general rule, exists because there are laws prohibiting behaviors, and because there is _profit to be had in breaking them._ And ladies and gentlemen, I intend to _remove that profit._ By taking a stand for our sovereign state-rights, I will nullify _all_ federal firearm _and_ drug laws, and in doing so I will remove the source of their money, cutting this state's criminals off at the knee! No longer will they retain their monopolies on things people desire or even need! No longer will they have the riches to hire their armies of enforcers! And no longer will the people of Gotham cower helpless before the evil that preys upon them! I will face the criminals that have plagued our lives for so long and I, Bruce Wayne, will _break them!"_ He cried with passion as he thrust his fist into the air, a symbol of the might that would descend upon the evil men that had wrought so much ill upon Gotham's people.

The hall immediately shook with the thunderous roar of support that issued from the people therein. They had expected a cheerful address, what they received was a call to action that whipped them into an almost religious fervor. He had spoken right to their souls, and they had answered with what he was sure would be unwavering dedication to his cause. As Bruce descended he was showered in praise and support, people cheering and patting him on the back and hailing his name as though he were Gotham's personal Messiah. But as he approached Caitlin, he found her expression a little more difficult to read. She seemed pleased, certainly. But also more reserved... Calculating perhaps. Though whether she was calculating how being the future governor's lover would affect her ambitions, or simply his odds of even living long enough to assume the mantle, he didn't know.

Putting such thoughts from his mind, he extended his arm to her and gently lead her towards the exit. They almost made it out too, but were cut off by a pretty blonde with a recorder and an expression like that of a child who was just told that the biggest present under the Christmas tree was theirs.

"Excuse me Mr. Wayne, if you have a moment I have a few questions." Ms. Vale told him.

"I'm sure you do, but I have a prior engagement. I do have time on the fifth however, would you like to meet me at my home for an interview?"

"An exclusive interview at Wayne Manor? Absolutely! I'll send you an e-mail, and you can just let me know whatever time is best for you!" She exclaimed. Then she clearly decided that she could afford to let him go for now and vanished into the sea of bodies around them.

Outside, Alfred was waiting by the limo for Bruce and his lover. He might have taken exception to this, as he would never ask his friend to stand out in the snow for no reason, but the amount of snow that rested on him showed that he had only been outside for a few moments. Likely, he had seen them coming through the glass doors and had readied himself to meet them.

"Thanks Alfred." Bruce said as he opened the door for them. Alfred simply smiled in return, a smile that seemed more than a little strained. Bruce sighed as he settled onto the plush leather seats. Alfred had been listening via his earpiece, and Bruce could tell that a lecture was coming. He had hinted about what was to come to partner in crime, but the poor man clearly hadn't managed to guess at his master's actions and was profoundly disturbed by them.

Once she settled next to him, Caitlin reached forward and closed the shutter that separated the cabins and locked it firmly in place. Seeing this, Bruce quietly resigned himself to a lecture from her too. To his pleasant surprise, nothing of the sort happened. She instead pounced on him, straddling him and kissing him furiously. Please by this turn of events, he returned her lustful attack in kind; pulling her body tightly against his and wrapping his hand in her hair as he kissed her back. Their tongues played back and forth between the lover's lips as their hips ground together, stoking the fires within them both.

"I thought you were... Upset." He breathed as he broke their kiss and nibbled gently on her neck.

"Are you kidding? I couldn't be happier!" She replied "You'll be the best governor we've ever had, and I'll – Oh God..." She moaned as he reached inside the bodice of her dress and massaged her breast, gently pinching and twisting her erect nipple. "I'll be the best wife a governor ever had!"

"Already planning the wedding huh?" He said with a smile before gently sucking on her collarbone.

"Well you can't leave me hanging forever." She shot back as she reached between his legs, squeezing with just the right amount of pressure to make him groan.

"You know better than that." He retorted with a wicked grin. Then he slid one of the straps of her dress off her tanned shoulder and freed her breast. He bent his head and, after a few playful flicks of the tongue, began to eagerly suck on her dark nipple.

"Oh my fu-ah!" She moaned in ecstasy, arching her back against his erotic assault. To his surprise, she pulled him back and gazed at him with crazed eyes. "Less talking, more fucking!" She demanded before pulling him to her and kissing him with manic lust.

As she rapidly undid his belt, he reached reached up her dress, only to have her stop him. "Damn it..." She swore in dismay. Then she smiled gently and said "Sorry Love, I forgot. Bad timing."

"Ah..." He replied in equal displeasure. After a moment, the fire came back into her eyes. She got on her knees and was just unzipping his trousers when the felt the car pull to the side of the road and stop. A quick glance out the heavily tinted window confirmed that they had reached her apartment.

"Oh come on!" He groaned in exasperation. They could of course continue, but not without making things exceedingly awkward for their driver.

"That was the idea." She stated with an evil smile. Bruce laughed at that, then they quickly ordered themselves before he opened the door and exited the limousine, with Caitlin following shortly after. The icy wind seemed a cruel contrast to their feverishly hot skin, and Bruce thought equally of sheltering his woman and loving her as he wrapped his arms about her and kissed her once more, slowly and softly this time.

"Maybe we can finish this tomorrow?" She asked happily after they broke apart.

"I wish." He said fervently. "But the next few days are going to be packed. First of the year and all that... I should be free this weekend though."

"I hate waiting that long." She sulked.

"So do. I'll make sure to call you tomorrow though. Sweet dreams beautiful." He told her with a final kiss. Bruce watched her leave and smiled contentedly as closed the door gently behind her. Yes, it was indeed moments like this when all his doubts and worries seemed as gnats before a hurricane, blown into oblivion by the wind's almighty power. 'Everything will be fine' he thought as he took the passenger's seat next to his oldest friend. 'Everything will be fine...'

"Sir?" Alfred's voice brought him back down from the clouds.

"Yes? Sorry, I was a bit out of it."

"Understandably so." Alfred said with an arched smile as he pulled away from the curb.

"Alright, I'm ready. Let me have it." Bruce told him half-jokingly.

"Before I 'let you have it', you may be interested to know that you've received a message just now... On your 'underhanded' phone." The butler told him, handing him the cheap burn phone he had purchased a few weeks previously. Bruce opened the text, which simply read: "Product is ready for delivery. Can deliver in person tonight. ~B."

'In person eh?' he thought in surprise. He hadn't expected such a personal touch, but was nonetheless pleased by it. As to the reason, it must be in regards to his payment. Understandable under the circumstances. He quickly typed out and sent his reply:

"Deliver at lakeside. Come alone."

Before Bruce could place the phone in his pocket, it chimed with a reply. "Obviously." It read. He snickered. To have replied so quickly, the man must be _burning_ with curiosity. Bruce put the phone away and gave Alfred his full attention.

"He'll be delivering tonight. And I can start making good on my promise." He said.

"Indeed... And in regards to this 'promise' of yours... When you reassured Ms. Isley that you would be using yourself as bait and _not_ her friend, I had assumed that you meant as the Bat and _not as yourself"_ Alfred retorted, clearly agitated.

"Nothing gets by you..." Bruce muttered.

"And how could something that brazen _possibly_ get past me? Your employees and even your woman may see this as bravado or naked ambition, but I know better!" The old man continued, his voice rising. "You're going to get yourself killed! Nowhere will be save for you after this! Nowhere! Good Lord, when the Falcone's hear about this..."

"I've already taken them into account." Bruce interrupted, hoping that his friend wouldn't worry himself into a stroke. "They got out of the arms trade years ago after Cobblepot kidnapped their son. All they have left is their political connections and the drug trade, and I've arranged for them to be informed of... Openings in the market. They'll become the state's primary legal supplier, and they'll have me to thank for it. They'll take a hit on their product prices, but their overhead costs will plummet. The will make a windfall, and won't be a problem for us."

"And the other, less affluent criminal syndicates?" Alfred pressed. "They won't send a common footpad after you, oh no... We both know _exactly_ the sort of maniacs they'll send for you, and they'll be coming for you _as Bruce Wayne!"_

"And I will meet them as Batman." Bruce replied calmly. Alfred sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Alfred, we discussed this. You know what I have to do _and_ why. You even said that you supported it, that you wished for years that I had done it sooner!"

"I know! And I do! I simply..." Alfred sighed heavily. "I understand _why_ you're doing this." He said finally. "Once you become governor, you will no longer be able to continue your war as the Batman... At least, not very often. So the clock is ticking. And with so little time, you must lure them out... And taking a stance that threatens them so is the perfect bait for a trap "

"Exactly" Bruce confirmed. "I have a year and ten months to cleanse this city of its worst demons. After that, I likely won't have a chance... Ever. And God only knows what that will mean for the people of Gotham, or those I leave behind... These maniacs are my mess, and I refuse to let anyone else risk their lives cleaning it up. What I'm doing here is simply killing two birds with one stone."

"I just wish there was a better way." Alfred complained. Bruce smiled and placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You and me both." He muttered quietly as they passed through the gates to Wayne manor.

"Before you go meet with your 'supplier', might I inquire as to when the boy will be returning home? He didn't tell me." Alfred inquired as they parked and exited the vehicle in the spacious garage.

"I have _no idea."_

"Don't you worry about him being out on the town all night?" Bruce chuckled in response to the patently absurd question.

"Worry?! This is _Tim_ we're talking about here. And Stephanie for that matter. If anyone can handle themselves, it's those two. And as long as they don't show up on my doorstep and wave a pregnancy test in my face, they can do as the please."

"Well there goes any chance _I_ had of sleeping tonight..." Alfred murmured. Bruce chuckled again as he made his way inside. He'd have to change of course, before his dealer arrived. It wouldn't do to receive such items _or_ such a guest dressed as he was...

* * *

A few minuets later, Bruce was sitting in the 'cave' as his underground fortress and armory was known, patiently awaiting his visitor. He had forgone his tux in favor of a black, military style sweater, complimentary A-TACS LE pants and Oakley boots. He fully intended to test the items in his shipment, and a tuxedo was far from the most practical outfit for that.

A gentle pinging not unlike that of a sonar systems alerted him to an intruder lurking about the lakeside entrance to his lair. Normally this would be cause for some concern, but he was expecting this intrusion. After confirming the identity of the vehicle's lone occupant, he opened the passage into the cave, making sure as he did so to raise the extra path since he sincerely doubted the vehicle in question could make the jump.

Bruce watched as a large white shipping truck made its way down the causeway and pulled to a stop in the spacious vestibule that doubled as a quick-parking area. Then he smiled as the driver's door opened and ejected its occupant: A tan, oddly sophisticated looking nine-foot behemoth of a man. Bane.

"Bruce!" He shouted joyously as he raised a pair of bottles into the air. His accent was as distinctive as his appearance, a mix that showed both his roots in Latin America as well as the fact that he had learned English from an Englishman rather than an American. "Get your scrawny ass down here and have a drink with me!"

Bruce grinned broadly as he descended to meet the mountain of muscle. "It sounds to me like you've already had a few." He jibed as he took the bottle from Bane. "Cider eh? You must be winding down for the evening."

"Yes well, I ran out of the good stuff." Bane admitted merrily. "Besides, I already know you can't drink like me."

" _Nobody_ can drink like you!" Bruce retorted glibly as he unscrewed the cap. "I shudder to think of how much alcohol it took to even get you _this_ tipsy."

"Not as much as you might think, though the _color_ might give you pause."

"Green?" He guessed as he took a swig of the cider. It was delightfully sweet, and had a satisfying hint of cinnamon blended into it.

"Yes. Green and straight." Bane confirmed with a roguish grin.

"Mother of God..." Bruce said as he shook his head in wonder. "Most men would be dead."

"But never me! Not for a while anyway. Heaven was nice, but it can wait for me a bit longer. Speaking of being dead though, you didn't have me test the drink for you."

"I generally don't bother testing for poison from people who die for me." He said as he took a seat on the nearby steps. "Killing me at this point would be more than a little wasteful."

"And doubly so, seeing as you're such a good customer." Bane replied, taking a seat next to Bruce. "Which brings me to why I came in person, even if it ruffled some feathers."

"Oh?" Bruce inquired before taking another drink.

"I spoke briefly with Alfred at the outer gate. He seemed... less than pleased to hear from me."

Bruce threw his head back and laughed. "Well you _did_ kill him once... And broke my back for that matter."

"Yes... And then I called you brother and gave my life for you." The cheerful colossus mused aloud. "The world is an asylum, and all of us madmen."

"Perhaps." Bruce said thoughtfully as he recalled the events that had lead to such a strange alliance. A few years ago, Bane had received a tip that Bruce and he might share a father in Thomas Wayne. Bane had come to him in a spirit of contrition, seeking answers and to mend ties with the only living family he believed he had left. They had grown exceedingly close over next several weeks as they searched for an answer and battled Gotham's criminals together; and even after learning that they shared no blood, Bane had still called him brother. They then journeyed across the globe together, searching for Bane's true father; a search which had brought them to the mountains of Kangchenjunga and face to face with the vile terrorist known as 'King Snake'. They had managed to foil the man's current plot; but when King Snake had tried to shoot and kill Bruce, Bane had taken the bullet for him, giving his life for the brother he had chosen. After being resurrected in a Lazarus Pit, Bane was faced with a clean slate and a choice between a normal life and his previous life of crime. He had chosen neither, opting for the middle road as an arms-dealer to the good citizens of Gotham and a mercenary champion of the people. And throughout it all, he had remained in frequent contact with the man he considered his brother in spirit if not blood: Bruce Wayne.

"Still, I much prefer our brand of madness to the alternatives!"

"I'll drink to that!" Bane concurred, gently raping his bottle against Bruce's before polishing it off in a few massive gulps. "Now, to business... Your bill is a matter of some concern."

"You don't think I gypped you, do you?" Bruce asked jokingly.

Bane roared with laughter and slapped Bruce hard enough on the back to make him choke. "You are a funny man! You and I both know that you _overpaid_ me... To an absurd amount. I know you love me Bruce, but _no one_ loves me to the tune of so many zeroes. So I came to simply ask you... Why?"

"I'm well aware of your continued efforts to supply the otherwise law-abiding citizens of Gotham with firearms, to give them a fighting chance against the criminal element." Bruce said, his tone suddenly becoming much more somber. "And I approve. So much in fact that I'd like to contribute to it; hence the money. Consider it a donation in the hopes that you can pass it on to the people in the form of lower prices and more goods."

"For such a ransom I could almost afford to hand guns out for free." Bane stated in a thoroughly amused tone.

"Yes, I can see it now: Bane the Giant on a street corner with a box of machine guns labeled 'free to a loving family." Bruce interjected mockingly. Clearly, the alcohol he had consumed this evening and Bane's jovial manner were beginning to take their toll on him, allowing him to joke and smile far more freely than usual.

The Giant laughed again, then spoke more seriously. "It was never just about the money you know. The money is good, but giving power to the people is better. Even in my darker times, I had my allies, and we had a code. We had honor. But there are so many out there who have no honor at all, and the people must be prepared to fight against them; for the police and men like you cannot be everywhere at once. But in the end, it is only a... How would you say it? A stop-gap. A temporary measure. As long as the people cannot be legally armed, they will never have true power."

"That's why I will be retiring the cowl in about two years, and taking up the mantel of Governor." Bruce announced.

"You?! The Governor?!" Bane exclaimed in shock. "Madre de Dios... Well, if anyone knows what it means to sacrifice for the people, it's you. That said, I can't imagine that you will platform on anything less than bringing the criminals in the state to heel; and you _have_ to know that you'll be making a target of yourself... Even more so than you already have."

"I'm counting on it." Bruce stated stated grimly. "And when they come for me, I'll be ready. By the time the election rolls around, the most evil men in this city will be dead... Or I will."

Bane nodded thoughtfully before rising to his feet. "Well, that explains your purchase. Though I wonder what will become of me in this future of yours. I will of course support you because you are my brother and your cause is just; but you must know that making the ownership of weapons legal and/or easier, which I assume from what you have said is in your plans, will hurt my bottom line."

"Oh I don't think so." The slightly-tipsy billionaire retorted. "New Jersey will need legal firearms dealers to fill the void in the market, and you already have all the contacts."

"Making an honest man out of me?" Bane asked with a snicker as they walked together towards the back of the truck.

"You've always been honest... It's the _legal_ part that you've had issues with. Oh, speaking of which, I have something for you. A request, and the tools to make it happen." Bruce said mysteriously. "My sources say that you've been approached by a number of potential buyers from the... Less than savory quarters of the refugee neighborhoods. People who are less interested in work, and more interested in war."

Bane's face darkened into a scowl. "Yes, I know their type. I have refused them all. My business is in honest people or professional warriors. Not thugs and terrorists."

"We'll you're not the only arms-dealer in Gotham, and I'd rather have them buying from someone I trust." Bruce explained. "So I want you to start selling to them... Small pieces at first. Once the volume increases, start slipping these in." He handed Bane a small plastic case. Bane grinned as he received it.

"Trackers?" Bruce nodded. "A clever plan, if a risky one. But I will do this for you. Men like this must be stopped early. They prey on tolerance; see it as weakness... Which, I suppose, it would be in this case. It's a wonder that Gordon has not already sicked his dogs on them."

"As I understand it, he tried." Bruce grunted as the stood together at the rear of the truck. "But the mayor called him off. Said investigating them would be "Islamaphobic."

Bane swore and pounded the side of the truck. "Such foolishness will be the death of us all! These kinds of men kill more Muslims than even our wars, but that doesn't appear to matter. They are a blight even upon their own people, yet no one cares face such unpleasant facts."

"Reality is an uncomfortable thing." Bruce said wryly.

"Indeed... Which reminds me of something that you should know. It is but the ghost of a rumor right now, but I have heard it whispered that a group hidden within the refugees has hired a man to do work distasteful even to them. A man who's name you know: Victor Zsasz."

"Zsasz..." Bruce growled. "Anyone who would hire him is either pathetically stupid or as sick and twisted as he is."

Bane nodded in agreement. "I'm sorry to say that the rumors indicated more of the latter than the former. But enough of such dark matters! It is a holiday, and you have gifts to open! Perhaps you may even show a few of them to Zsasz eh? Now help me unload these cases and I'll show you what your generous donation has bought you!" With that, he threw up the shutter and revealed the cargo within. Bruce smiled approvingly.

"Pelicans huh? Very nice!" He said, noting the cases.

"Well you _did_ pay top dollar! But it is what they hold that is the real treasure!" Bane bragged as he dragged the first case out. Bruce took the other side, knowing that he didn't actually need to but wanting to contribute anyway. In a matter of minuets they were setting the final box to rest, this one being one of the few that contained extra weapon racks. Bane rapidly flipped the lids open, then stood back and gestured grandly with the air of a true showman. Bruce let out a low whistle as he gazed upon the plethora of machine guns, rifles, shotguns, grenades, grenade launchers and a dizzying array of ammunition for every conceivable situation. He slowly made his way from left to right, noting as he did that each weapon came in pairs... A back up in case the original was destroyed, or in case an ally needed one.

The first few cases contained shotguns: Kel-Tec KSG's, DP-12's, AA-12's and what appeared to be Saiga SBS's with folding stocks. Looked like a Tromix conversion. The ammo cases that went with them contained the most varied munitions of all: From buckshot to Bolo-rounds, from hollow-point slugs to dragon's breath incendiary rounds, nothing was spared. Bruce reached down and extracted a white shotgun shell.

"Rock-salt rounds?" He asked with a cocked eyebrow. Bane shrugged.

"You fight clay men already, who knows what will be useful?" Bruce nodded in response and replaced the shell. The man had a point... With all the insanity he fought so often, anything could come in handy. Bane picked up one of the KSG's.

"I have already tested them all and they fire perfectly. See?" He said as he pointed the gun _right at Bruce._ Bruce's eyes widened in horror. He tried to dodge, but was far too late. The shotgun blast rang like thunder in the cave and showered Bruce... With confetti.

" _Fucking hell Bane!"_ He screamed, clutching instinctively at his chest. "I have enough gray hair already!" Bane, meanwhile, was bent double and slapping his thighs with his free hand.

" _You should have seen you face!"_ he howled through tears of mirth. After a moment Bruce began to laugh along with the jolly giant, until the hall echoed with their laughter. "Alright, no more jokes." Bane apologized as he wiped the tears from his eyes and tossed the shotgun to Bruce. He put the weapon away and moved on, still working to steady his breathing. He was impressed with the great man Bane had become, but his humor left a little to be desired.

Next were the rifles and machine guns: SCAR's, FN2000's, G-36C's and a pair of TAVOR's identical to the one Tim owned; and all the with model-specific attachments nearby. Bruce looked quizzically at the SCAR's, noting that there were four of them rather than two. "Different calibers?" He inquired, pointing to the rifles. Bane nodded in confirmation.

"Variety is the spice of life!" He exclaimed grandly.

Bruce chuckled at that as he inspected the ammo crates. The ammo was less varied, but still came in several varieties. Armor piercing, standard ballpoint, hollow-points and tracers all made an appearance.

Next came the sub-machine guns: UMP's, KRISS's and...

"What the hell is this?" Bruce asked, holding up a tiny gun that looked like some kind of hi-tech Uzi. Bane's face split into a grin when he saw the weapon.

"This is a personal favorite of mine! H&K MP-7 A-2 Personal Defense Weapon. Fires a 4.7 millimeter bullet, between a rifle and pistol round. Most devastating PDW on the market, and barely larger than a handgun! And of course, if you need even _more_ firepower in a small package, I have a couple of SCAR PDW's as well." Bruce nodded approvingly before replacing the gun. Ammo-wise, the sub-machine guns seemed to have been grouped for the most part in with the handguns and which contained all the essentials.

Next were the rifles, and semi-auto precision was the name of the game there: From H&K, the SL-8. From Barrett, the monstrous Model 82A1. From Alexander Arms a deceptively simple looking .50 Beowulf custom. And finally from Tracking-Point, the M1400EM. The holy grail of sniper rifles, it could track targets in its scope and self-calibrate for a perfect shot trajectory every time. Even the worst shooter would be hard-pressed to miss with it, and in expert hands like his he would be able to give even Floyd Lawton a run for his money. Or he would have, if Lawton hadn't recently retired. It seems that a few years working for Waller had burned even him out. Honestly, Bruce couldn't blame the man. That woman was pure, hell-forged evil.

As he inspected the rifle rounds, he couldn't help but be amused at the almost cartoonish size of the Beowulf rounds. "Are these for hunting dinosaurs?" He asked with a gesture at the ammunition. Bane laughed.

"Or giant crocodiles... Give my regards to the first one you see." Bruce didn't have to think hard to come up with someone fitting _that_ description. After a moment of further inspection, he moved on.

The grenade launchers weren't as interesting to him, but still of the very best quality: A pair FN40GL-S's, Milkor M32A1's and the highly advanced XM25 CDTE's. Bruce picked up the FN40GL-S.

"You know, I actually already have one of these." He declared, waving the weapon at Bane.

"Really?" Bane's eyebrows shot up. "Well, now you have three. You can never have too many guns!"

"Evidently not." Bruce chortled as he returned the launcher. Only three crates remained aside from the accessories and grenades: The handguns and two "mystery cases".

There were three pairs of handguns: Glocks, FN5-7's and Springfield XDM's. Bruce cocked his head slightly at the case. "Are those 17's?" He inquired, indicating the Glocks.

"Indeed, full auto models!"

Bruce grinned wickedly. "Excellent, those will go well with the RONI conversion kits I noticed in the accessories. By the way, what brands did you go with on those?"

"Aimpoint for the sights, AAC and Bowers for the suppressors and Viridian for the lights and lasers." Bane answered succinctly. "Green light isn't as harsh on the eyes and will allow you to preserve your night-vision."

"My thoughts exactly." As Bruce neared the last two crates which had remained closed, his supplier held up his hand, halting him.

"Please, allow me." Bane told him. "These were very expensive, very difficult to acquire. But for you, I made the effort. I'm sure you will find that they compliment your style perfectly!" With that, he opened the first case and extracted what looked like some kind of bizarre, hinged rifle with a tiny computer screen on it.

"Damn... I know what that is! The corner-shot!" Bruce exclaimed enthusiastically. He had nearly forgotten the almost childlike thrill of acquiring new weapons.

"The perfect weapon for the Bat of Gotham!" Bane crowed. "A little tricky to reload and it takes some practice to really get used to, but you can't find a more versatile weapon system than this, especially if you want to hit your enemies before they see you!" He put the corner-shot away and opened the final case. It contained two oddly smooth handguns and what looked like a couple of laptop batteries with handles and flashlights attached.

"First, these." Bane said as he retrieved one of the strange little blocks. "What do you think these are?"

"I'm not sure... They look like some kind of camp or tactical light." Bruce guessed. With a dramatic flair, Bane pushed a tiny lever on the side and gave the block a quick flip. It instantly unfolded into a fully-loaded sub-machine gun. "Now _this_ I like! What's it called?"

"The Magpul FMG-9. Best concealable PDW on the market... And you'll note that the top comes off if you want, so it will just be a square."

"Well one of these things is _definitely_ going in my briefcase from now on." Bruce said with a smile. "And the handguns?"

"Ah yes..." Bane pulled one out, loaded it and chambered a round. "You see that it is loaded, yes?" Bruce nodded. The giant handed him the weapon and took a step back. "Now, I want you to shoot me, if you can!" Bruce didn't like this idea at all, but the challenge at the end clearly indicated that his brother was confident that the gun wouldn't fire. He tried and sure enough, nothing. He handed the weapon back to Bane, who was grinning like a maniac. "Is there somewhere I can fire this?" He asked politely.

Bruce gestured to the stone walls that flanked the causeway. "Anywhere over there is fine." Bane turned and fired off three rounds into the darkness without a problem before returning the gun to his customer. Bruce tried again to fire, but to no avail. Laughing, he handed it back to Bane.

"Alright, you've got me. What's the secret?" Bane pointed to the small, inconspicuous digital watch that rested on his wrist.

" _This_ is. It's fingerprint encoded; and the gun will not fire unless it is within twenty-five centimeters of the watch, so no one can use it against you. Of course, it is easy to re-program it to a new set of fingerprints, but who the hell has time to do _that_ while fighting the Batman?"

"You sure came though Bane. This is some amazing equipment." Bruce praised the man as he tossed both the handgun and watch into the crate.

"Anything for you!" Bane said loudly as he shook his sibling good-naturedly by the shoulder. "Now it is already late, and you will no doubt want to test all these yourself before you sleep. But I have a final question for you before I leave."

"Oh?"

"Well, as you can see, I filled the gaps in your grenade selection. You are a master of less-lethal weaponry and already have many flash-bangs and smoke-grenades and gasses... Now you have fragmentation, concussion, thermite, napalm, cryo-"

" _Cryogenic grenades?"_ Bruce interrupted. "Did you get those from Fries?" Bane nodded. Victor Fries had left his life of crime behind after finally managing to cure his wife, but it seemed that he still had a few left over tools, mementos from a darker time. This was good news for Bruce however, as he was the only man known to have successfully produced cryogenic weaponry, including grenades.

"Anyway, you now have all the standards. I also made the custom pieces that you requested in both hand and forty-millimeter, but I'm dying to know what you wanted with hydrofluoric acid grenades! And the empty cases, what are _those_ for?!"

"Hydrofluoric acid is used to rapidly dissolve sand and clay." Bruce explained.

"Ah... I see now." Bane replied as understanding dawned on him.

"And in regard to the empty cases... There are a list of evil people who I _must_ end if the city is to be safe. It is them I will go to war with, them I will slay. But for everyone else, I will continue to try and leave them alive, to fight them with fear. And I happen to have a _very_ effective weapon for that: A gas produced by Dr. Johnathan Crane."

Bane shuddered. "Well good for you, but keep that shit away from me! That man is sick!"

"No arguments here." Bruce concurred. He reached out and shook Bane's hand and was pulled into an unexpected, bone crushing embrace.

"You stay safe Bruce." The great bear of a man told him as they parted. "Stay alive. Blood or not, you're the only family I have in this world. And family is everything to me."

"You could have more you know." Bruce told him with a winning smile. "Game night is every other Friday at seven... Assuming the world isn't ending."

"I might just do that." Bane mused as he climbed into the cabin and shut the door. "Oh, and for the love of God, get married! Make babies! You're getting old!"

Bruce roared with mirth. "Jesus, you sound like Alfred!"

"Well the old man can't be wrong all the time!"

"Are you safe to drive?!" Bruce shouted as Bane drove away.

"I am always safe! It is everyone else who isn't!" He hollered back, his voice fading away into the distance. Bruce let out a slightly nervous chuckle, but decided that his driving _seemed_ straight enough. As the portal closed behind the white truck, Bruce turned back to his now extensive gun collection. 'And now' he thought as he rubbed his hands together. 'To work!'

* * *

A few hours later and after repeatedly practicing with every new weapon in his arsenal, Bruce stumbled into the kitchen like something out of a Romero movie. He hissed unpleasantly as the light of dawn that streamed through the windows seared his vision like a heated knife. Almost blind, he fumbled for a glass and filled it at the fridge with refreshingly chilled water.

As he sipped his drink, he went over a mental checklist of the weapons he had practiced with. Everything had worked like a charm, though the corner-shot _had_ , as he expected, been by far the trickiest to handle. Of course, the fact that he had still been slightly intoxicated at the time likely hadn't helped matters. Still, he had attained some level of proficiency and was confident that he could quickly master it with more practice. And practice he would; the Glock 17 in the corner-shot was simply too powerful a combination to pass up.

Bruce returned the glass to its place, only to notice a large, dark piece of trash left on the counter. Had he left it? No, he was sure it hadn't been him... That meant Alfred had left it. It was out of character for him to leave a mess, but Bruce supposed that he had just been tired as well. Besides, while neither of them were getting any younger, Alfred was much farther down the road than he was...

Bruce shook his head, clearing the depressing thoughts from his mind. Now _that_ was something he truly didn't want to think about just then. With a shrug, he picked up the garbage, dropped it into the garbage-disposal unit and hit the switch.

An ungodly racket assaulted his ears, making him wince in pain. "What in the _hellfire?!"_ he groaned in chagrin. He turned on the tap and let the water assuage the poor machine below it. This helped with the noise, but not as much as he had hoped. 'Maybe if I just run it in pulses...' He pondered. But before he could act, the light flipped on and Alfred rushed into the room.

"What on earth?!" The old man exclaimed as he rushed past his charge and turned the machine off, followed shortly by the fosset. After a quick glance in the sink, Alfred gazed heavenward, his face contorted into an expression of supreme irritation only lightly controlled. "Bruce, go to bed!" He ordered.

"Excuse me?" Bruce asked in shock. This was a highly uncharacteristic and impertinent tone for the butler to take with him.

"What did you just do?" Alfred asked him pointedly.

"I... Got rid of some garbage." He answered in a confused tone while gesturing weakly at the sink.

"That 'garbage' was your cellphone... Emphasis on _'was"._

"Oh..." Was all Bruce could say. So it had been his fault after all. Suddenly he felt very much like a foolish child up past his bedtime. His energy reserves _had_ been lessened as he had begun weening himself off the steroids, but this was the first time he had done something so _embarrassing_. "I think I'll just... Call it a night."

"Sleep well Master Bruce." Alfred told him with a long-suffering smile.

"You too Alfred." Bruce said with a vague wave. He began to laugh and rub his eyes as he made the long trek to his room. If this was a sign of things to come, it was going to be a _long_ year...


	9. Chapter 9

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Nine**

 **February 19th**

" _I am the fastest gimp alive!"_ Harley cried joyfully when she finished hobbling down the rail-lined walkway and heard her completion time, eliciting a good natured laugh from her therapist. The time wasn't actually all that great, but it _was_ a new record for her. That alone would be reason to rejoice, but she had been happy almost constantly since that joyous day nearly three months ago when she had upgraded her status from cripple to recovering gimp.

'Though it ain't been all sunshine and butterflies...' she thought. Or was it flutterbys? She remembered hearing once that it was supposed to be flutterbys, but some asshat had gotten it backwards and the name stuck.

"You're doing great Harleen, you barely needed the rails at all this time!" Dianne told her with a sunny smile. Dianne was her physical therapist; a short, plump little woman with a hearty laugh and an equally hearty love of cinnabons. If Harley was to be honest, that cute little woman had been a tremendous help in her staying positive throughout the last few months. She had received messages from Red of course, but it helped having someone so cheerful there in person. Dianne's constant encouragement had helped her make astounding progress, and it was estimated that she would be walking and even _running_ normally again within three more months. As for her other issues...

"Well, keep up the exercises every day and we'll have you out of here in no time flat! But I should let you get back to your room so you can be ready by the the time Dr. Hinkley gets here." And there was the rub.

Dr. Mary J. Hinkley was her psychotherapist, and while she was also a cheerful (if less rotund) woman, the subjects of her visits were never as uplifting. Thanks to her time with the Joker, Harley had more skeletons in her closet than the average politician and mortician _combined;_ and discussing them wasn't exactly her favorite way to spend the day. But she openly acknowledged that the things she had done were wrong and sincerely regretted them, so it hadn't really taken long to air all that nasty laundry. The most difficult and frequent conversations were about her relationship with the Joker.

'The Joker...' She mused as she bid Dianne farewell and staggered on her walker to the elevator. Her feelings for him wavered between broken-hearted longing and disgusted hatred; but still there was an air of mystery about him. She had spent three years with him, and yet she never knew his real name or if he even had one. It had become painfully obvious as well that she had never known how evil he really was either, he had somehow kept the worst of his evil from her. Perhaps in his own deranged way he had held some affection for her too, but it hadn't been enough to keep him from nearly murdering her the moment she had crossed him, deliberately or not.

"Course, it also wasn't enough fer him ta screw me either." She muttered sourly as she reached the top floor and stepped out. At this point, she wasn't sure what embarrassed her more: the fact that she had fucked up her life so thoroughly that she would be lucky to get a job washing dishes, or the fact that she was a twenty-seven-year-old virgin after living with a man for _three goddamn years_. At least, she thought she was. She still wasn't sure if fooling around with Red counted, but she _knew_ she wasn't counting anything that ran on batteries.

"Maybe I should just go full lez." She grumbled as she entered her room. She was pretty convinced that no guy would ever want her now... I mean, what guy wanted _the Joker's_ abc gum? And who would believe that she wasn't exactly that? Maybe Batman but...

She felt her heart thump a little in her chest, then irritably plopped on her bed and began to strip out of her hospital clothes into something a little more suitable for public. She had found herself thinking more and more about B-Man as the months wore on, about his daring attempt to sacrifice himself for her and his rescue of her... And this was extremely disconcerting. He might not be evil like the Joker, but he was still obviously insane. She knew she shouldn't try hooking up with anymore loons, no matter how tempting it was, or how noble or brave or fuckn' _cut_ they were...

She slapped herself hard enough to make her eyes water, then proceeded pulling on her thick sweater. She had been fortunate so far with it being winter, but she knew that summer was going to be exceedingly unpleasant in pants and long sleeves. Nevertheless, she had consigned herself to such frump attire for life. Better that than to show off her scars.

She paused for a moment before pulling on her pants, gazing at the revolting patchwork that was her once beautiful legs. She had needed three plates in her left leg, two in her right, one in her left arm and a pair of tiny rods in her lower back. Between these and the surgery scars on her belly and scalp, she looked more like Frankenstein's Bride naked than the knockout she had once been. At least, that was her opinion.

She finished getting dressed with a melancholy sigh, then made sure to retrieve the letter she was to mail off from her bedside table. For a moment, the pleasant sounds of the city that echoed upwards to her open window were reduced to nearly inaudible background noise as she unfolded the letter and read it for the last time before she would seal it away. She had filled a wastebasket to overflowing trying over and over again to find the perfect words before finally giving up and allowing the words to flow from her heart. What could she possibly say anyway that could justify what she'd done? The years of silence, the cold neglect and the utter disdain for everything he had ever taught her... She had no right to expect forgiveness, or even to request it. All she could do was let him know that she hadn't forgotten him.

"My dearest Father,"

"I used to fool myself into thinking that you might not have seen the news... That the police would never have come to your door, that you wouldn't know what I had done, that you wouldn't know the monster your baby girl had become. But I'm no longer so naive. Of course you know, of course you would have found out. I can only imagine the pain and disappoint this has caused you, the embarrassment to know that the child you raised was a wanted criminal, a maniac. I won't dare ask for your forgiveness, and won't blame you if you throw this letter away and never speak to me again. I'm too much of a coward to face you myself, but I had to tell you at least once in my life that... I'm sorry. Dear God I am so, so sorry! There isn't anything in the whole wide world I wouldn't give to be able to turn back the clock and never make the mistakes that I have. But that's impossible now, and I'll carry the guilt I feel to the grave with me. But please believe me when I say that I love you with all my heart, and that I only cut contact with you because I knew deep down that you would be ashamed of me and I... I just couldn't face that."

"I also understand if you don't believe me when I say this, but from now on I'm turning my life around. As bad as I was, I'll be that good. No, even better. As cruel as I was, I'll be even kinder. As... Evil as I was, I'll be even more righteous. And I won't be alone. There are many good people around me, and some of them were even like I used to be; people who were bad but turned themselves around. I've even found a hero in Batman... Can you believe that? The Joker's ex, a woman who tried so hard to hurt him, but now he's an inspiration to me. I know that you've looked up to him as long as he's been kicking ass, and I hope that this gives you hope for me."

"But most of all, it's my memories of you that make me want to be better. You were the perfect father to me, and I know that raising me alone wasn't easy. But you were kind and patient with me and taught me to laugh at life, to love everyone and to find the strength to make the world a better place. And I swear, that's what I'll do from now on, even if it kills me. I love you Father, and I always will, no matter where life takes us from here."

"You remember that movie I would watch over and over as a kid, 'Quest for Camelot'? I want to leave you with a quote from a song in that movie, a song I've listened to over and over again here in the hospital: 'I want to live my life the way you said I would; with courage as my light, fighting for what's right like you made me believe I could."

"I wish you nothing but the best, and hope that this letter can give you even a little bit of the peace you have been missing these past years. Again, I love you with all my heart."

"Your Little Beanpole, Harleen."

She took the letter and tenderly sealed it within the envelope, which she had already addressed. Then she tucked it lovingly in her coat pocket as though it were spun from solid gold and wiped the tears from her eyes. He might never forgive her, but at least now he would know that his girl still loved him, and always would.

After a moment's thought, the blubbering mess of a patient realized that her mascara had run to the point where she probably looked like Lady Gaga, and the mirror confirmed this to be true. She sighed, and set about cleaning herself up. She wasn't wearing the white face-pain anymore, but a woman should still make herself presentable before appearing in public, _especially_ if drama was on the horizon... And boy was it ever on _this_ outing.

She found herself compulsively running her hand over the bristles that adorned her skull and chuckling slightly at the feeling. It was almost long enough now to hide the garish scar that ran from her hairline above her left eye clear to the back of her skull. Amazingly they hadn't needed to put a plate in her skull, and thank God for that. The plates she already had itched often enough, and sometimes produced an unnerving "needles and pins" feeling that the doctors informed her was her nerves getting used to the plates. Whatever it was, it sucked monkey balls.

Harley examined herself quizzically in the mirror, smiling a bit at her now almost boyish reflection. 'A boy with massive jugs' she thought and laughed out loud. Still though, it had been about fifteen years since her hair had been this short, and almost as long since she had thought about those days. With a wave of nostalgia, she found her mind turning back to those carefree times, and most especially that sunny summer day when her life had changed forever...

* * *

It was hot, muggy July day in New Your City when the four young troublemakers met behind the old pipe factory for the Pokemon "tournament to end them all." Or at least, to end them until they decided to have another one. The gaming mats ( a mere formality when playing with Gameboys) were lined up and red/blue corners had been designated. All that remained was to decide who would face who on the field of battle first.

"You're on Harley's team, it's girls vs boys!" Mikey told a much quieter and more introverted boy by the name of Conner. Most people would have seen this as bullying, but Mikey was always like that; needing to prove that he was the best or some crap. He could get away with it around Conner but not with the tall, gangling, freckle-faced scarecrow of a girl that was rapidly homing in for the kill.

"Gah, what the hell Harley?!" Mikey cried as she slapped him smartly across the back of the head.

"It's _Harleen_ dipshit! Do I look a frickn' motorcycle ta you?!" She shouted.

"Yeah, we can screw handles in your ears and ride you like a bike!" He replied with a laugh that quickly turned into a cry of pain.

"How 'bout I _unscrew your ears_ ya little pervert!" She bellowed as she exacted a harsh vengeance on her uppity underling by attempting to 'unscrew' his right ear.

"Come on Harls, don't kill 'em!" Sam told her as he broke up the fight. Aside from being the only black kid in their little gang, he was also the most level-headed. This made him 'second in command' to Harleen, who was the de-facto leader due both to her charisma and the fact that she towered a full head over the boys. Connor was the brains of the group, his mind always racing far ahead of his mostly quiet mouth and concocting many of their best schemes and activities, which were then given voice by Harleen. And as for Mikey, he was their resident loudmouth. They all wanted to pummel the little shit on a regular basis but he _could_ be a lot of fun, and anyway the amount of goodies he always managed to pilfer from his rich-family's house made it totally worth putting up with his nonsense.

"Just 'cause ya can screw stuff in your _mom_ doesn't mean ya can to her." Conner retorted in an unusual display of defiance.

"Ouch." The tow-headed girl grinned as she high-fived her friend. Mikey looked about ready to blow a gasket, but Sam cut him off before he could even begin.

"Come on guys, are we gonna play or what? Besides, Harls already made the rules. Everything's random; so no pickin' teams and no bitchn'. Conner, you got the stuff ready?"

"Got 'em right here!" He declared proudly as he held up a trio of Tupperware containers. The smallest had four pieces of paper in them, each containing one of their names. The other two contained slips that either had the Pokemon's general type on it, or else the details of the match conditions respectively. The kids reached into the containers and drew their names: Harleen with Conner against Sam and Mikey. With their opponents selected they drew for the round format, which turned out to be same types for the first round.

Harleen raised her voice and made the official announcement: "Welcome everybody to taday's Pokemon grand championship! In the blue cornah we got Sam verses Harleen (That's me)! And in the red cornah, Mikey verses Conner! Alright boys, pick your card and get your colors! And remember, loser hasta do whatevah the winnah says... _Within reason._ I'm lookin' at you Mikey, I ain't eatn' your goddamn golfish. If ya hate the thing so much, you eat it."

"Yeah yeah yeah..." Mikey nodded sullenly at the reference to last time's forfeit, which she had flat out refused to do, as they booted up their systems. Mikey demanding outrageous forfeits was not an uncommon occurrence.

As they linked their Gameboys, Harleen glanced to the side and noticed Conner had that rare, predatory expression that she only saw on him when they competed. He looked a lot older when he looked like that, and pretty cute too...

Suddenly a phone rang, making her jump a bit. She glared at Sam, who was chuckling at her reaction as Conner pulled his phone out and answered it.

"Hello? Yeah... Yeah I did. Yeah, I know... Hey, We're about to play here. Ok. Thanks, you too. Bye." He hung up, then turned back to the game.

"That your girlfriend?" Mikey teased.

"It was my Mom. She was making sure I took my pills." Conner replied in a flat tone.

"Oh." Mikey looked a little ashamed and focused on his game screen, while Conner now looked slightly morose. They all knew that he took medication for depression, and that it was connected to his generally quiet and withdrawn nature. It was something of an unspoken agreement with them that they wouldn't bring the matter up, knowing how uncomfortable it made him. She hated to see him looking down like that, but knew that the best thing she could do at this point was let him play.

"Alright, looks like we got... Grass. Crap." Sam said.

"Alright, let's see what ya got for me!" Harleen challenged, encouraged by his trepidation. After a moment, his Pokemon appeared onscreen. She blinked a few times in surprise. "Parasect? Really?"

"Er, I never use grass..." He said sheepishly. "What have you got?" She grinned viciously as her high-level Venusaur entered the fray. "Shit, really? Alright, I surrender."

"Nope, that's against the rules!" She protested. "Besides, I wanna hurt ya!"

"You're evil, ya know that?" She cackled in response to his critique of her moral character before promptly wiping the floor with him.

"Alright, cough up." She demanded, holding out her hand expectantly. He sighed and handed her a dollar. She always asked for the same thing: Money. "You're gonna grow up to be a robber aren't ya?"

"Hey, someone's gotta pay for my candy... Might as well be you!" She replied with a laugh. Then she walked over to the other two who were still locked in battle. "What've ya got?" She asked Conner.

"Electric, I've got Raichu. He's got Electrabuzz. It's pretty close." He muttered, his face fixed on the screen. After a few more minuets, he swore in annoyance at his loss and looked expectantly at his opponent, awaiting his fate.

"Hmmm... What to ask for... "Mikey mused aloud. Then his face split into a positively evil grin. "Alright, I've got it! You have to kiss Harley right here!"

For a moment, there was no sound as everyone stared in shock at the gloating little redhead. They all knew he was a bit of a pervert, even beyond the rest of them. But to have the temerity to actually demand such a forfeit was so far beyond the pale that none of them seemed able to process it.

"I-I-I..." Conner stammered, his eyes bugging so far out of his head that they looked like they were about to fly out and seek vengeance upon his tormentor. His reaction wasn't lost on Harleen, and she felt her heart sink right down into her shoes. She had had a crush on Conner for _years_ , and to see his reaction to the idea of kissing her tore her to pieces. She had always guessed that he just saw her as 'One of the guys', and she had even accepted this role by buzzing her head and dressing like them. But to know this for a fact...

A moment later despair turned to fury, and she fixed her sights on Mikey with murder in her eyes. Her vision seemed to cloud with a reddish haze and all she could think about was killing the little shit. 'Fuck him!' she fumed 'Fuck him for putting me in this position, for making me feel this way! I'll kill him!' Without a word of warning, she pounced on him, putting him into a headlock and punching him repeatedly in the head.

"How _dare_ you! How _dare_ you ask for that?!" She screamed, utterly ignoring his cries of protest as he struggled in vain to free himself. "Ya little sicko! _I'll beat your fuckin' brains in!"_ Sam dashed forward and with great effort separated the two of them.

"Harls, calm down!" Sam shouted, trying to keep himself between them. She wasn't hearing it though, and neither was Mikey, who looked like he really wanted to pay her back for the bloody nose she had just given him.

"I'll kill him!" She shouted in fury, looking for a way past her friend.

"Oh sorry, I forgot that you only like girls!" Mikey shouted, halting her in her tracks. "Yeah, I remember how excited you were when we stole that Playboy!"

"That doesn't mean I don't like boys ya fuckn' spastic!" She spat. "I just... I-" Her voice began to break, and a second later she was weeping in shame. So what if she thought girls were cute too? So what if she would gaze at those pictures, longing to look like them. Wishing that she could be curvy and sexy and have big boobs like them. Maybe then Conner would like her... But no. She was just one of those boys, and they clearly thought she was a carpet-muncher to boot. That's what they called it, right? That's what the cute girls would call someone like her. She was so upset that she barely heard Sam speaking behind her.

"Great, ya made her cry. Ya happy now?" He snapped at Mikey. But she was far past caring, and fled the scene in tears. She thought she heard someone calling her name as she ran away, but she couldn't be sure.

After a few minuets, she slowed and finally stopped at an overgrown lot that seemed to be devoid of life. She sat down, wrapped her hands around her knees and wept bitterly. She was so embarrassed... So ashamed to have lost it that way, angry that they all actually thought she was a lez and most of all, brokenhearted in the knowledge that Conner would never see her the was she saw him...

"Hey Harleen, ya left your Gameboy." Conner's voice whispered from beside her as she felt his hand settle gently on her shoulder. Her eyes widened like saucers and she lept to her feet, facing the true source of her tears.

"Get away from me! Leave me alone!" She shouted at him, not meaning what she said but unable to stop herself. He looked wounded, gazing at her with that sad puppy look he got that always tore at her heart-strings. She turned away, unable to face him. For him, normally so quiet and timid to have followed her like that must have taken a _lot_ of courage. But that hardly mattered to her at this point. "Is it really that gross?" She whispered.

"What?" He asked in confusion. She wiped her tears and snot away on her baggy sleeve, then looked right at him.

"Is it my hair?" She asked, her voice beginning to rise once more. "Is it 'cause I'm bigger than you? Is it 'cause I _don't got boobs_ , is that it?! I'm still a girl ya know! Is the idea of kissn' me really that nasty?!" She screamed as the tears rolled down her face. She turned away, only to be held back as he grabbed her hand.

"Wait!" He cried. "It's... It's not that. I was just surprised and... Embarrassed. It's not 'cause I don't like you 'cause... I do like you.. I like you a lot." Harleen felt her heart shoot back up out of her shoes and nearly leap out of her chest at those words. She turned to face the boy, feeling a hurricane of emotions engulf her. Nervousness, joy and fear in equal parts assailed her as she locked gazes with Conner.

"R-really? You like me?" She asked, her whole world seeming to hang on his answer.

"Yeah, I do." He said, his face set with the same kind of determination that she had only seen there before when he was competing. That look that made him look so much older, so much more handsome... Harleen felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair as her eyes darted around, looking at everything but him. "And... I would... Like to... Kiss you." He finally managed to say.

Now _that_ was _way_ beyond what she had dare imagine. Her eyes shot back to his as she went stiff as a plank. Now she could see that he was blushing at least as badly as she was, if not worse. In fact, he looked a little like a lobster. The thought would normally have made her laugh, but right now she was too stunned to do anything but stand there like a poorly proportioned manikin.

Conner swallowed what seemed to be a small boulder that had lodged itself in his throat before leaning slowly towards her, his face drawing ever closer to hers. Her mind seemed to go completely blank for a long moment before it was consumed by a maelstrom of thoughts. Was this really happening? Was the guy she had had a crush on for so long really about to kiss her? Had he ever kissed anyone before? She was fairly sure he hadn't, and she knew for a fact that _she_ hadn't. And yet here she was, leaning forwards and down to meet him, unable to break eye contact with him. She had always loved his eyes, brown like chocolate and so deep that it seemed you could drown-

And then it happened. Their lips met, and Harleen felt as though every cell in her body had been struck by lightening at the same time. It was the most wonderful, most amazing feeling she had ever felt in her entire life! They stood there for a moment, their lips and eyes locked. Then they broke apart, and Harleen started to giggle nervously.

"What's so funny? He demanded. She glanced shyly at him before shaking her head.

"Nothing! I'm just... Really, really happy!"

"Me too." He said with a smile that melted her heart. He took both her hands in his, and leaned in again. It was easier this time, but every bit as delicious as the first kiss. She felt his hands slide up her arms, then about her back and the rear of her neck, pulling her close against him. She remembered seeing the people on the porn videos that she vehemently denied watching using their tongues when kissing. She didn't really know exactly what how that worked, but she decided to give it a try; parting her lips and slightly and nervously sliding her tongue forward. He responded by letting her tongue in as well as sliding his into her mouth. She sighed in pleasure at the intimate feeling and swooned into his arms, utterly lost to the amazing feelings that washed over her.

She wasn't sure how long they stood there relishing this new experience, but when they finally broke apart the shadows had greatly lengthened across the ground. Conner took her hand once more in his, and without a word walked her back to her house.

As they reached her porch, they turned to face each other once more. "Well... I guess I'll see ya tomorrow?" Conner asked with a hopeful smile.

"Definitely!" She exclaimed. They kissed again, parting only with great difficulty. "Well... Goodnight." She whispered breathlessly.

"You too." He said, equally out of breath. She watched him walk away until he rounded the corner, feeling lighter than air every single second that he was in her gaze. In all her life, she couldn't remember feeling so happy. With a happy sigh, she pushed her door open and went inside. Just as she expected, her Dad was already home from work and cooking dinner.

"Ah, Beanpole! Glad ya made it back, I need a few beans for green!" Normally she'd have stuck her tongue out at his teasing, but she was still so enraptured with getting her first kiss _and_ first make-out session in the same day that she couldn't bring herself to do anything but grin like an idiot as she plopped onto the couch. "I'm guessin' from your expression that you won?" He inquired. She shook her head in response.

"Naw, the whole thing fell apart."

"Ah. Well that would explain why Mikey called up a few minuets ago." The tall, lanky man surmised as he pushed his glasses further back onto his nose. "If he called, I'm guessin' he started another fight."

"Yup, but I finished it!" She proudly declared as her Gamecube booted up.

"That's my girl! Kickin' ass and takin' names!" He said with equal pride. She giggled at that, noting not for the first time that he had long since given up asking if she was ok after a scuffle. If she _had_ been hurt she would have told him; and she always one anyway. But her thoughts were interrupted as noticed that he had come up beside her and was offering her the phone. "Still, you should give him a call. It sounded like he wanted ta apologize. Must've been pretty bad, whatever he did. What _did_ he do anyway?"

She snatched the phone away from him before answering in a decidedly tart tone. "Well after he won against Conner, the little dickhead dared him to kiss me! _Then_ he said that they only reason I wouldn't do it was because I must be gay!"

"Is that a fact?" Her Dad replied. His eyebrows shooting skyward and a slight edge making its way into his voice. "Well I'm glad you kicked his ass then, otherwise I'd have to. So... Conner... Did he kiss you?"

"N-no!" She stuttered, going red as a pomegranate. She turned her attention to dialing her friend, but not before she noticed her Dad's eyebrow shoot up gain and a disbelieving smile grace his lips. Nevertheless, he didn't inquire further and left her to her own devices, returning to the kitchen.

After a few rings, someone picked up the line. "Hello?" A voice that she recognized as Mikey's mother asked.

"Hey, it's Harleen. Is Mikey there? I heard he called."

"Oh yes, just a moment. Mikey! Phone for you!" Harleen winced slightly as the boy's mother shouted for him. Mikey might be a loud little ass, but he came by it honestly. After a bit of highly audible fumbling with the phone, her friend repeated the same questioning greeting as his mother.

"It's Harleen. You called?" She asked cheerfully. The events that had just transpired had put her in such a good mood that she didn't even remotely want to kill him anymore. Breaking one of his legs would be more than sufficient.

"Hey, I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. About today. That was a shitty-Ow!" He shouted after a loud smacking noise resounded across the airwaves. Harleen managed not to laugh, but only barely. He sure had been smacked a lot today. Oh well, he deserved it.

"I mean, a crappy thing for me to do. So... Yeah, sorry about that."

"It's ok, just don't do it again!" She replied in the same cheery tone.

"Um... Ok." He said, clearly baffled at the fact that she was going so easy on him. "Well, see ya tomorrow then. I mean, we're still going on with the tournament right?"

"Yup, sure are! See ya then!" She said a millisecond before hanging up. Looking at the screen, she noticed that there didn't seem to be a disk in the console. Her brow scrunched up in confusion. She didn't remember putting it away... Daddy must have. But she knew exactly where it was and pulled it from its place on the shelf with a contented smile. Her favorite game series ever, Resident Evil. Was there any better way to celebrate such a wonderful occasion as this than sitting in the dark and wandering around a decrepit old mansion full of walking corpses and unspeakable horrors? And since the re-make had come out a few years ago, it was so lifelike that it had given her nightmares for almost a week! It was a true masterpiece, and her Dad had already agreed to buy number Four when it came out next year as a late Christmas present. She could hardly wait, and contented herself with yet another jaunt through the Spencer Mansion to sate her appetite for horror and gore.

She took a moment to appreciate the cover art before opening it: Jill Valentine locked in the foul grip of a hideously decayed zombie. Now _that_ was art! She remembered in a flash that Conner also loved these games, and pondered her luck. A totally cute, sweet guy who liked the same stuff as her _and_ was a great kisser...

"Hey Beanpole! Food's up!" Her Dad called, nearly making her jump out of her skin. Such a silly reaction; it's not like he could know what she was thinking about... Right? Right.

Knowing the rules, she turned off the Gamecube and set the game on top of it, totally intending to pick it up right after dinner. She pulled up a chair and smiled dreamily, in spite of the fact that the green for the evening was artichoke, which she usually considered to be the bane of her existence. This smile was not lost on her father, who seized upon this opportunity to continue his interrogation.

"You seem happy, I thought the artichoke would spoil the meal." He casually stated.

"Naw," she replied with a shake of her head. "The chicken makes up for it."

"I see... So it's not because anything _special_ happened today?"

"N-no!" She denied, lying right to his slyly smiling face. 'Damn!' She thought irritably as she went a color reminiscent of strawberries. 'He's on to me.' And he clearly was, the awkward silence that filled the room was proof of this. Normally diner was a social affair and the room was abuzz with conversation between mouthfuls of food. But tonight it was silent as the grave, and the expression etched on the man's face was one of overwhelming smugness. This was his advanced torture technique. He would just sit there with that smarmy smirk on his face, waiting until the pressure built up to an unbearable level. But she could endure, she _had_ to. The last thing she needed was to spill the beans to her _Dad._

The minuets dragged on for what seemed like years as the only sound made by the two was the slight clink of their dishes. The silence was so complete that Harleen could hear the clock ticking the seconds off, and it seemed like an eternity passed between each tick and tock. She began to sweat and shudder in her seat. She glanced up, only to see him staring merrily back at her without so much as a blink. How did he do that? Didn't his eyes get dry? After all, it had been... She shot a look at the clock. Two minuets. _Two goddamn minuets._ She looked back at her Dad, who was calmly sipping his drink, and suddenly realized that she couldn't bear the pressure a second longer.

"Alright, I'll talk!" She cried in surrender. He simply threw his head back and laughed.

"Two minuets and fifteen seconds, a new record! So, you were saying?" He said, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

"Well, I didn't lie, he _didn't_ kiss me when he was dared. Actually, he got _really_ embarrassed and I got in a fight with Mikey and then... Well, I started cryin' and ran off."

"Really? Why?" He asked as his tone shifted from snarky to genuinely concerned.

"I thought he didn't like me. He chased aftah me though. And I... Kinda yelled at him a bit. But then he told me he actually _did_ like me. And then he... Kissed me." She whispered the last so quietly that she barely heard it herself.

"What was that?"

"I said he kissed me!" She almost shouted, her face so hot that she was sure you could fry and egg on it. He just laughed again, but it was the sort of good natured laugh that always put her at ease. She could already feel her muscles relaxing in spite of herself.

"So you got your first kiss today huh?" He asked, his eyes sparkling once more. All she could manage in response was a nod and a smile that stretched from ear to ear. Telling him suddenly seemed a relief, as if a great weight had been lifted from her and she could now be every bit as happy as she felt with no need for deception. "So, how was it?"

"It was just the most amazing thing evah!" She retorted enthusiastically. They both laughed for a moment at that.

"Well I'm glad to hear it!" He finally managed to say. "Of course, this _does_ mean that's I'll have to threaten him with a hacksaw the next time he comes by..."

"Daddy!" She shouted in protest. He simply spread his hands with a look of almost believable innocence.

"Hey, it's just one of those Dad rules. Nothin' I can do about it."

"Sure..." She muttered sarcastically. He ginned before walking over and giving her a hug.

"Well I'm really happy for ya baby. He's a good kid, and so are you. And hey, I already gave ya 'the talk', so now you can just be happy without all the awkward stuff!"

"Oh, but ya just _had_ ta bring it up!" She said as she playfully pushed him away.

"Of course, I can't let ya get off scott-free!" He retorted humorously. "Now hurry and eat up. Remember, the games are mine at nine; I'm definitely getting one-hundred percent on 'Leach Hunters' tonight!"

"Yeah yeah, I've heard that one before." She muttered.

"Oh it's true. I cheated and looked it up on the net. Apparently the one I've been missing was in the kitchen sink."

"Really?" She asked in bewilderment. "But we checked all ovah that room. There wasn't a single sparkle!"

"Yeah, it seems that you just have ta walk up to it and grab it with no sign that it's there. It's kinda bullshit."

"No kiddn..." She muttered. "Well, here's good luck toast then!" She exclaimed. With a chuckle her Dad raised his glass as well and toasted his future success.

Later in her room, Harleen lay awake in her bed, unable to sleep a wink. She was still riding the high from such a wonderfully important day in her life. What would happen now? Were they officially a couple now? Would they get married some day? Would she lose her virginity to him? She blushed furiously at the thought, but also had to admit that the idea made her happy enough to bounce around the room like a cat on crack. Whatever happened, she knew that she was in love now... And what's more, he was in love with her. And if he felt anything lie she did, then nothing would ever come between that.

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone, sorry it took so long to get this up! I ran into some serious writer's block and... Well, with no one around to help me past it, I just had to muscle my way through it. I feel like the block is gone now though, and God willing I'll be able to keep churning out great stuff for you all. So as always, thanks for reading and enjoy!


	10. Chapter 10

**Batman: Armistice**

 **Chapter Ten**

The city noises seemed distant and muted as Harleen and Conner crept through the darkness, making their way up the rickety old fire-escape to the roof of a derelict apartment complex she had never seen before. For her part, Harleen was giddy with excitement. Tonight at midnight (or in the next fifteen minuets) she would be turning fifteen, and he had told her that he had something special planned for the evening. She wasn't sure what it was, but if he made a move then she was _definitely_ giving up her v-card tonight. Actually, she was seriously hoping that would be the case, but she'd kept her trap shut about it. Whatever the surprise wound up being, she knew it would be fantastic; he never failed to put a smile on her face.

Conner... Her friend, her lover as of almost three years, but still not officially her boyfriend. At least, they hadn't announced anything but everyone already knew. Since that summer day so long ago they had been practically joined at the hip; and it hadn't taken long for Mikey to spread rumors all over town. Of course, no one knew _all_ the details. She was fairly sure that her Dad would kill him if he knew that they'd passed third base at least fifty times already, _each_. Honestly, she was pretty sure she was addicted.

When they finally reached the top of the last flights, she gasped in amazement at the sight before her. Rather than the barren concrete roof she had expected, it looked like a field from the countryside: Tall, swaying grass, a small pond with what looked like lily-pads and even a small tree. She'd never seen anything quite like it here in the city, and especially not on a _roof._ This was no park; this was real, honest-to-god nature suspended fourteen stories in the air.

"What... What _is_ this?" She whispered in awe.

"I think it used to be a a golf course or something. Then it was abandoned and just... Grew. I found it a couple weeks ago and had to show you." He said with that smile that made her heart melt every time she saw it. He didn't smile often, and he only smiled that way for her. She leaned in happily to reward her man with a big kiss, but was taken aback when he held her back. "Wait, there's more."

As he lean her by the hand towards the small field, she took a moment to admire his handsome silhouette against the gibbous moon. These past years they had swapped places, with him now towering over her as apposed to when they had first gotten together. This was fine though, as he could now hold her in his arms like a man should. And anyway, she had developed in other ways that _more_ than compensated for the lack of height; specifically in longer hair, a bubbly butt and a pair of perky tits that she was especially proud of. Her guy really seemed to like them too, and she had invested in plenty of cute tops to show them off. Granted, there _still_ wasn't a lot to show off; but at the rate she was filling in it wouldn't be long before she had some impressive cleavage to flaunt.

Her wandering mind was quickly pulled back down to earth by the intriguing sight that appeared before her. Out in the knee-high grass, she could have sworn that she saw a flicker of of light here and there among the blades. Could it really be what it seemed?

Harleen's question was answered almost in the same moment she had pondered it as they waded into the field. Scores of fire-flies took flight, filling the air with what looked a swirling galaxy of tiny ephemeral stars that winked in and out of existence second by second. In all her life, she had never seen anything so breathtakingly beautiful. And there, smiling back at her from the center of the storm, was the man she loved with every drop of blood in her veins; every breath of air in her lungs. Her world, her hero... Her Conner.

Without wasting another moment, she threw herself into his arms and locked her lips passionately to his. He tried to hold her up against him, but she was having none of it. She pulled him to the ground and straddled him, grinding her hips against his as she shucked her shirt off and tossed it aside, revealing the brand-new lacy bra that she had bought and worn just for him. She was absolutely, one-hundred percent sure that tonight was the night. Tonight she was going to lose her virginity to him, and once she had she wanted him to fuck her from then till dawn.

With a little help from his girl, Conner removed his shirt before pulling her against him and kissing her deeply, their tongues writhing in battle as she furiously dry-humped him. After a few minuets of kissing his lips began to roam, kissing her jaw, her neck and then nibbling lightly at her favorite spot between her neck and collarbone. She moaned loudly as a sort of mini-orgasm rippled through her body in response to his actions. It wasn't much, but she could still feel her muscles spasm and clench, forcing even more of her juices into her already sopping wet panties. She could hardly contain her excitement at the idea that they would soon be squeezing around his throbbing cock, forcing every last drop of his seed out of him and inter her willing body.

He paused for a moment when he reached her bra, apparently admiring it. It _was_ the first time she had worn anything quite like it, and she was pleased to see that he was so enthralled.

"Like it?" She asked coyly, wiggling flirtatiously above him. She was shocked to hear how husky and mature her voice sounded right then. She didn't sound at all like a girl, but rather like a woman. All things considered, this was perfect.

"You look amazing..." He muttered. She grinned widely at his praise.

"My panties match ya know..." She told him as she dragged her clothed crotch along his as if to emphasis this. The she dove forward and began to suck and nibble on his earlobe, which she knew to be _his_ weak spot. "And they're fuckin' _soaked_." She murmured between bites. Conner groaned with pleasure as he reached behind her and unclipped her bra, seemingly eager to discard the lovely garment in exchange for revealing the even fairer sight beneath.

Harleen's pale breasts sprang free, her hot pink nipples already erect from their erotic play. Conner eagerly leaned forward and took on of her tits in his mouth, sucking and gently biting her tiny bud as he massaged the other with his free hand. Then he did something he had never done before, bringing his knee between her legs and rubbing it against her as he stimulated her breasts. After a few brief minuets the combined stimulation was simply too much for her to bear, and she found herself lost to a storm of erotic bliss.

"Con- Oh God... Oh fuuuuucckk!" She screamed as she climaxed, her eyes rolling into her head as she spasmed feverishly against him. After a minuet or so she finally stopped twitching, though her breath was still coming out in ragged gasps. Her lover raised up slightly to kiss her, but rather than meeting him she moved downward, kissing and licking her way down his body as she tore at his jeans. She never got tired of his taste, relishing the taste of his sweaty skin on her tongue as she moved ever lower, seeking her favorite taste of all... The taste she was shamelessly addicted to, that she craved this very instant. It had been a whole three days since she had sucked him off last, and she couldn't wait to fill her mouth with the gigantic load he would have saved up for her. She might even have enough to let some out on her face. She hated to waste such a delicious snack, but she _did_ love the sensation of his cum splattering all over her face. It made her feel so bad, so _dirty_ , and she thoroughly enjoyed the thrill of doing something that she viewed as so incredibly slutty.

After yanking his pants and boxers off, she wasted not a moment in engulfing his erection in her mouth; going from nothing to fully deep-throating him in an instant. Now it was his turn to moan as her throat tightened around his shaft, making him arch his back and thrust his hips reflexively against her. In the past this would have made her gag; but after their many liaisons over the past several months she had gotten to the point where he could furiously face-fuck her without any problems at all. In fact, the rougher she was treated, the more she enjoyed it. She'd heard that some girls liked being choked while having sex, and she was pretty sure she was going to be one of them.

Harleen pulled him out of her mouth, then smiled wickedly up at her man as she licked him slowly from the base to the tip before swallowing half his cock and seizing the other half in her dainty hand. She began bobbing up and down at a dizzying pace, sucking and pumping on him as she did. He reached down and ran his fingers lovingly through her hair; writhing as he did beneath her pleasurable assault. Usually when she went to town like this he only lasted a couple minuets, and sure enough within that time-frame he was almost shouting her name as he shot burst after burst of his hot semen into her mouth. She gleefully caught it all on her tongue, then gazed up at him with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she opened her mouth to show off his work. There was so much that a little leaked out of her mouth and ran down her chin before she closed her mouth and swallowed every sticky drop. Not wanting to waste any, she scooped up the stray dribble and ate it too, sucking it off her finger in a way that clearly referenced their previous activity.

"Holy _fuck_ I love the taste of yah cum!" She exclaimed as her man rose unsteadily to his feet. He responded with a shy chuckle and a deep blush that was so damn cute she wanted to jump up and kiss him, but she knew he didn't like kissing her right after a blowjob. That was fine by her, she was happy to watch him change like he always did from a ravenous animal to a shy schoolboy. Cute enough to melt the heart and hot enough to melt the pants. That was her Conner to a tee. "So, was that my surprise? Or was it the fireflies?"

"Uh, neither actually." He replied with a smile. She smiled back, but then shuddered as a gust of wind chilled her naked flesh. "Why don't we get dressed?" She nodded her assent to this suggestion, then suddenly swore shortly after pulling her pants back on. "What is it?" He asked.

"I... Might'a got a little carried away..." She admitted in an embarrassed tone. "I kinda... Wanted to go all the way tonight."

Conner's eyes widened. "R-really?" She nodded again, this time very decisively. She didn't have a doubt in her mind on _that_ matter. "Well then, maybe we can a bit later." He said in a soft but clearly excited voice.

"And don't ya even _dare_ think about pullin' out!" She warned him as she pulled her shirt over her head. "I'll squeeze ya with my legs 'till I saw ya in half if ya try!"

"Jesus!" He swore in mock horror, to which she merely cackled evilly. "Do you _wanna_ get knocked up?"

"May-be!" She coquettishly retorted. The truth was that she mainly just wanted to feel him filling her up, but she _did_ kind of want him to get her pregnant too. She knew it wasn't smart; but she was young and in love and frankly didn't give a shit. She wanted to have his babies and that's all there was to it.

He laughed before picking up his bag and and leading his date to the lone tree that graced the wild roof-top. "This isn't your present either..." He began as he opened the mystery sack. "But I thought it might be nice..." Out came two huge foil-wrapped pieces of what she could only assume from the shape and smell was pepperoni pizza and-

"Holy shizballs!" She hollered as he pulled a large bottle of reddish-brown liquid from the sack. "Firahball Whiskey?! Where did ya get that? You totally stole that from yah Dad, didn't ya?"

He shook his head. "Actually, from my sister."

"Ah..." she said, the light of understanding dawning in her eyes. "So even if she find out, she can't do nothin' cause she wasn't supposed to have it eithah... Clevah!"

"What can I say, you're a bad influence on me." He teased as he withdrew a couple of shot-glasses from the bottom of the bag.

"But ya love me right?" She wheedled, batting her eyes outrageously. He might actually be right, other than their first kiss she had instigated each new step in their sexual exploration; as well as getting him into drinking and stealing. She really wasn't the best influence, but it wasn't all bad. She saw how sad he looked without her; but around her he looked happy in a way that even his medication couldn't manage. And more than that, he seemed braver and more mature; able to speak more freely and take greater risks than he ever could alone. And that definitely had to be a good thing.

"Always." He replied softly, kissing her forehead.

"Mmmmm..." She murmured happily at his touch before stepping away and snatching up a glass. "So, undah-age sex, theft _and_ drinking... Think the Batman will get us?" She jested.

"Naw, not in New York. Besides, I don't think he exists." Conner glibly rebutted her; and personally she had to agree with him on this. Her Daddy might believe in the Batman, but she was pretty sure she'd wind up seeing Bigfoot first.

"Me eithah! Now pour us some shots and let's get _smashed!"_ Conner laughed at her antics, then dutifully filled their glasses. As she eyed the pungent liquid, a brilliantly sinister idea popped into her brain.

"So, ya know how people use mouthwash aftah eatn', right?" She asked.

"Uh, yeah..." He said in a bewildered voice before raising his shot to his lips. She watched carefully, waiting until he reached the point of no return. Then, she struck.

"So, did ya get me this as mouthwash for yah spunk or somethin'?" She grinned from ear to ear as she choked in shock at her unbelievably crass inquiry. After a moment of sputtering and hacking, she decided to have mercy on her poor lover and pounded him on the back until his coughing fit subsided.

"Y-you did t-that on purpose!" He accused her between gasps.

"Sure did!" She boasted. Then she prudently downed her shot before he figured out a way to get even with her. "Hmmm... Not bad. Tastes kinda like those atomic-fireball candies."

"Another?" She nodded enthusiastically, eager for more.

* * *

Several minuets, two shots and two slabs of pizza later, the young couple lay in each-others arms in the scant shade of the tree; a gesture that wasn't entirely pointless as the bright silver moonlight had cast some impressive shadows across the city. Harleen was fairly buzzed, but still not what she would call properly shitfaced. Still, they had opted for a quiet moment to pause and enjoy the night before continuing their quest for stomach-churning drunkenness, and she didn't mind that one bit. Truth be told, these were the moments that she cherished above all others: Laying quietly in the arms of her Love, listening to his heartbeat, feeling his arms about her and knowing that all was right in the world...

"Hey, Harleen?" Conner whispered, breaking the silence.

"Mmmm?"

"Ya know we're startin' school in a few days and... I just wanted ta say that I want everyone ta know what we have. I wanna start off high-school as your guy, and I want you to be my girl. So I guess what I'm asking is... Will ya be my girlfriend? For real, and not just between us?" Harleen could hear the apprehension in his voice, and saw it written in every line of his face when she turned to face him. He was obviously afraid that she might turn him down, but he shouldn't have been even a little bit.

" _Of course!"_ She squealed before plastering her lips to his. After all this time, they were _finally_ official! And now, she thought as she played an intense game of tonsil-hockey with her new boyfriend, everyone would know that she was the luckiest girl alive.

After a few minuets of making out, her boyfriend (she felt giddy every-time the word crossed her mind!) broke away from her and reached into his pocket.

"Well, since ya said yes, I guess I can give ya your _real_ present now..." He began.

"Is it a pony?!" She asked jokingly, her eyes wide as saucers.

"No... It's this." He held up a tiny object before her eyes, and she gasped in amazement. There, glittering by the light of the moon, was a _ring._ "Of course, it's not a real one..." He continued, suddenly abashed. "But I thought ya could have this for now, and after we graduate I could get ya a real one and ask ya for real, if you're still interested by then that is. I mean-" His rambling was cut short with a tender kiss.

"Ya won't even need ta ask me then." She told him as she gazed deeply into his eyes. "I'll always love ya, for eveah and evah. My answah will be the same then as it is tonight: Yes, I'll marry ya. Yes, I'll be yah wife." She honestly didn't think she'd ever seen him look happier than he looked in that moment, when he hear those words. She took the ring from him and went to slip it onto her ring finger... Only to discover that it didn't fit.

"Shit." He swore in frustration. "I thought I got the right size but-"

"It's ok! Really!" She reassured him, still glowing from what basically amounted to a _double_ proposal and not wanting to spoil the mood. "Here, I can wear like this, see?" She slipped it onto her index finger and waved it around as if to prove her point, "Plus, I can punch people with it like this!"

 _That_ got a laugh out of him. "So, shall we have some more?" He asked after their laughter subsided, holding up the bottle of Fireball Whiskey.

"Absolutely!"

* * *

Harleen groaned in abject misery as the sunlight stabbed painfully into her eyes, even through her eyelids. This was pretty strange, since her bed was in the corner away from the window specifically so she wouldn't ever have this-

She jerked awake with a start, wincing in pain as her headache caught up to her. Once she opened her eyes and looked around the rooftop, the memories of her wonderful birthday night rushed back to her... As did the knowledge of how totally screwed she was. She turned in panic to her gently snoring companion and began shaking him roughly.

"Conner! Conner, wake up!" He grumbled in annoyance and tried to swat her away, but she persisted until her finally took a look around and his face took on the same horrified look as hers.

"Aw crap..." He groaned as soon as he realized their situation. With him finally on board, Harleen felt she could safely give into her impulses and freak out.

"We'ah fucked, we'ah fucked weahfuckedweahfucked-" Conner reached out and grabbed her, halting her total breakdown.

"It's ok, I'm sure your Dad won't be too mad-"

"Bullshit." She ejaculated. "He'll chain us ta the basement wall, then he'll put a bunch of those alien eggs in front of us and they'll hatch and the face-huggers will face- _fuck_ us, then the chest burstahs will kill us!" Conner stared at her incredulously.

"I... Really doubt that'll happen." He said slowly.

"Yah right, I'm just trying to be positive." She replied with a sigh. It then occurred to her that he had specifically said _her_ father, and had said nothing about his own situation. "What about _yah_ parents? Ain't ya worried about that?" He glumly shook his head.

"I'm not goin' home today. I'd planned ta stay out today anyway, just not like this." He told her. She could see that he was depressed, and his medication had likely worn off during the night. She hated to see him like this, and was a lot more worried about his statement than she cared to admit. Hopefully just asking him wouldn't be enough to clue him into just how concerned she was.

"And why is that?" She inquired, doing her best to keep her tone carefully neutral.

"Ya remember how I said I was gonna to be busy today, so I wanted to celebrate your birthday last night?" She nodded. "Well... At noon, I'm supposed to go in for some new medication. Ya know, before I start high-school."

Now that was a worry she could certainly understand. She'd seen him switch his meds a few times over the years, and it was always a little scary. Once he had completely flipped his lid and started screaming at Mikey so bad the the kid had run home in tears; and on another occasion he'd been unable to sleep properly for almost a week. She'd never seen anyone look so exhausted and had actually feared that he might be dying right in front of her.

"I just... My medicine works fine right now! Why can't they just leave me alone?!" He pleaded to nobody in particular, tears standing out in his eyes. "I feel like a Guinea Pig in a lab... Like they just wanna... I don't know, keep screwing with me ta see what'll happen! And my parents, they don't give a shit. Whatever the doctor says, they do. No one asks me what I think, no one cares..." Unable to take it any longer, Harleen threw her arms around her lover, squeezing him almost hard enough to hurt.

"Harleen-"

"Hush." She shushed him, placing a finger on his lips before replacing the finger with her own lips. " _I_ care about ya. And I'll be here for ya, no mattah what. It'll be Harleen and Conner forevah, you'll see! Besides, I'm yah fiance now, so I'm gonna stick to ya like glue!"

"Fiance?" He asked in surprise, though Harleen noticed the corners of his mouth fighting the urge to shoot upwards into a grin.

"That's right! I got the bling so I get the title!" She announced, waving her ring around once more. "I'll be there for ya anytime, rain or shine! Uh, that reminds me... What time is it?" Conner pulled his phone out and grimaced. She had guessed from the position of the sun that it was pretty late in the morning, and that look pretty much confirmed it.

"It's ten. Exactly." She sighed again. Yup, her Dad was going to be _pissed_. But remembering Conner's own concerns took her out of her own for a moment, and let her put on a brave smile for him as she took his hand in hers.

"Well, if we're gonna die, let's go die together!" She gleefully declared, thrusting her free arm into the air before her like a general leading a charge; or perhaps an anime girl who had just managed to claim the last pocky stick. That finally got a laugh out of him and a genuine smile out of her. She loved every sound he made, but especially his laugh. It was so rare that each and every one felt like an early Christmas to her. And so the happy couple walked hand in hand to meet their apportioned fates together... Which ended up not being as bad as she had expected. Her Dad had only yelled at her for a few minuets, once she had managed to convince him that he didn't need to rush out and buy a pregnancy test. She'd have much preferred that his concern would have been founded, but she sure as shit wasn't going to tell _him_ that. He was even nice enough to let her eat her birthday cake with him unwrap her gifts before he locked them in the closet, telling her that she could have them in a month. He was sweet like that; and had seemed genuinely happy that she and Conner would be starting high-school as a couple. And that was now in less than a week...

* * *

"Attention students: Harleen Quinzel, please come to the principal's office. Harleen Quinzel, please report to the principal's office."

The usual clamor of teasing arose from Harleen's English class. Not usual because this happened often, as this was her first day in High-school and she hadn't yet established a reputation as a delinquent; but rather usual in that this heckling was pretty much exactly what she would have expected from such a situation. Hell, if it hadn't been _her_ being summoned, she'd have been doing it herself. Unwilling to be cowed by her new classmates she stood up and gave them an exaggerated wink and a double thumbs up before marching out of the room. After all first impressions were important, and they needed to know where she stood; specifically in the corner with a dunce cap, a joint and a PSP.

As she made her way down the unfamiliar halls, she couldn't help but wonder why she was being called to the office. She was only two hours into school, and hadn't had time to do any crazy shit and get in trouble yet. She hadn't even been to lunch, which meant she hadn't seen Conner yet. They didn't share any classes until the afternoon, so she hadn't had a chance to be reprimanded for PDA yet either. She anticipated this happening a _lot_ in the future though. Her boyfriend was fucking _hot_ , and she'd have to make it totally clear to all the other girls that he was taken; as well as showing them that any attempt to change this would be met with swift and brutal retaliation.

A small silver bell rung over her head as she pushed open the office door and made her way to the front desk where ditsy-looking blonde woman was managing the currently minimal flow of visitors.

"Hey, ya called for me? I'm Harleen." The blonde perked up and pasted on a highly artificial smile.

"Oh yes, they're waiting for you in the principal's office, third door on the left."

'They?' Harleen thought. Who could 'they' be? She began to feel a little worried as she approached the office door, thinking that it could be the cops. Granted it had been over two months since she'd broken into the pound on a dare and let all the animals in the back lose, but police investigations took time. Maybe they had finally tracked her down and she was about to face justice for the several dozen dogs and cats that she had released onto the streets. If that turned out to be the case then she was definitely ratting out Mikey. It had been his dare after all, and she saw no reason that she should have to suffer alone for it. More than a little apprehensive at the notion, she raised her hand and rapped on the door before her.

The door opened, and she came face to face with a woman she could only assume was the principal. She was tall and slender, with friendly eyes and long, ratty black hair with purple highlights. She reminded Harleen a little of Cher; if Cher had quit soft-rock, started smoking three packs a day and taken up death-metal. "Harleen?" The woman asked, her voice every bit as friendly as her eyes but with a bit of a rough edge. Harleen nodded in response. To her surprise, the look in the woman's gaze changed in an instant from warmth to one of pity. "I'm Principal Gochees. Please come in and have a seat." Harleen did so, sitting across the desk from the Principal; who herself called to a second door in the back of the room.

"She's here Paul." She said simply. Paul? Did that mean...

Sure enough, the door opened and her father stepped through. He walked forward and took the seat next to her, forming a triangle between the three of them. One look at his haggard face sent her over the edge from worry right into outright fear. Try though she might, she honestly couldn't remember a single moment when she had seen him looking so miserable.

"Dad, what's wrong?" She said, her trembling whisper barely loud enough for the two adults to hear. "Why are you here?"

"Honey, I'm afraid I have some bad news... Oh God that sounds so cliched." He groaned. The little girl didn't think she could become any more worried, but that simple statement proved her wrong. He _never_ called her 'honey'. She was 'Harleen' or 'Beanpole' or even 'Imp'. He only ever called her 'Honey' or 'Baby' when shit got real. He reached out and took her hands in his, locking eyes with her and banishing all thoughts beyond his words to her.

"I got a call this morning. It was about Conner." Oh no. Oh dear God no, nononono-

"Last night... He died. His parents found him... Found his body this morning. His sister... She called me. She knew you would need to know."

And with those words, all the universe seemed to halt. Reality had been turned on its head, every sound was consumed by silence, every spark of light smothered in shade. Then everything seemed to move all at once, like a movie on fast-forward. Her Dad was trying to get her attention, repeating her name over and over again whilst gently shaking her shoulder as if to wake her from a deep sleep. Even the Principal was trying to get her attention now.

"No..." She whispered. It wasn't true. It _couldn't be_. This just wasn't the way the world worked. She looked back at her Father, her eyes pleading with him to tell her that it was some kind of sick joke, or even hoping that his face would turn into a hideous monster and that this was all a horrible nightmare.

"I'm so, _so_ sorry Honey." Was all he said. He reached out and caressed her cheek, only to look stricken when she recoiled from his touch. Harleen was dimly aware that her whole body had begun to shake and that tears were now streaming from her eyes.

" _H-how?"_ She wailed. Ms. Gochees leaned forward, her own eyes awash with tears.

"I really don't think it matters-" She began, her kindness halted by the weeping girl's upraised palm. Harleen lowered her hand and asked again.

"How?" She snarled through clenched teeth, mustering every ounce of her strength for this question. If this was true, if she was to believe it, she _had_ to know. Her father drew a deep, shuddering breath before answering.

"He... He killed himself."

Her breath caught as though she had been kicked in the ribs; and like a faucet turned off, her tears stopped flowing. So... That was it. It wasn't his medicine... He wasn't sick, he didn't have a heart attack, no one had snuck into his room in the night and killed him. He had taken himself away from her. Everything he'd said to her, every precious moment they had shared, all their dreams and plans for the future... It had all been a lie. He hadn't loved her. He'd never loved her.

Her gaze fell to the floor, and she was dimly aware of the voices of her Dad and the principal talking. Something about sending her homework while she was gone. She didn't care. As far as she was concerned, her life was already over. Her Conner was gone. He'd left her forever, and nothing could ever change that. Everything she'd ever wanted, her dreams ever since she had met him as a six-year-old girl... It was all naught but ashes now.

"-And if she needs more time, we'll be happy to accommodate her. I-I'm so sorry for you both Paul. If you need anything, either of you, just give me a call."

"I will Diana, and thank you." He replied. He reached out again to take his daughter's hand, only to be refused once more. He sighed, his shoulders slumped in defeat. "Come on Honey. Lets go home."

Harleen was catatonic all the way home, not uttering a word or even moving more than was absolutely necessary. Her brain felt like a broken record, repeating the same lines over and over again without end: "He died... They found his body... He killed himself..." Before she knew it she was through the front door and shuffling wordlessly up to her room. Her Dad was trying to tell her something, but it was all white noise to her.

Once in her room, she let her backpack slide to the floor as she walked over and sat on her bed. Her gaze wandered around her room, its walls like a slide-show of a life was now lost to her. Most kids put up posters on there walls or things like that, but she'd always found that to be stupid. Instead, her walls were covered in pictures: Fishing trips with her Dad, especially the time she'd caught a fish nearly as long as she was tall. Her and the gang, covered from head to toe in dirt after an epic clod-war. Sam was there, his bow slightly bloodied from a cut he'd received via a clod that turned out to have a rock in it. But he smiled in spite of the pain, his teeth still shining pearly white against his dark skin even after eating a mouthful of dirt. Mikey was next to him, his wild red hair full of chunks of dirt. Then came Harleen herself. At ten, she was already a bit taller than the boys, though her hair was still long at the time. She had also lost three teeth not long before that, but that hadn't stopped her from grinning like she had just won the lottery; her patchwork smile the perfect compliment to her dirty cheeks and scabbed knees. And finally, there was Conner. Rather than grinning like the rest of them, he smiled simply and calmly with a mature temperament that belied his youth. As the years had marched on, he had proven himself to be the wisest of them all, outstripping even Sam in their teenage years. His mouth had often been silent, but his mind was always running at a million miles per second. She had never been able to keep up with him, and had always held him in awe even before she fell in love with him.

Her eyes continued to wander across the pictorial landscape of her life, until her eyes came to rest on her most cherished picture. Her eyes filled once more with bitter tears as she remember that day:

It was the picture they had taken after their Pokemon grand championship match. The day after her first kiss. And there she was, holding hands with Conner. They looked so happy. They _were_ so happy. They had found each other and life could hardly have been better than it was on that sunny summer day. As she had stood there, holding his hand and basking in the radiance of his love for her, she could have never guessed that it would all end this way...

She shook her head, her tears flying like tiny diamonds across the room. This couldn't be real. It had to be a nightmare, or some kind of joke-

Her head snapped up. Of course! This was a joke! A twisted prank! His sister had called her Dad, not Conner's parents, and she had a seriously fucked up sense of humor. Harleen would certainly kick her ass for this, but her wrath would be tempered with relief. Conner had been at school the whole time, and she would have seen him if she had just made it to lunch. But she knew an easy way to clear this all up; and on that thought she snatched up her phone and called him up. This would show the little bitch. They'd have a laugh about it, then plot a suitable revenge on his sister for this fucked up joke.

The phone rang... And rang... And rang. Her chest began to tighten with dread. He was going to pick up. He would, he must be in class or something... And then, just when she had started to lose herself to panic, she heard his voice.

"Hey." Just one word, and her heart soared into the clouds. She wanted to sing and dance and cry tears of joy all at once. He was there. He was _alive._

"This is Conner. I'm not here so, ya know, leave me a message."

Heart broke all over again as she heard the dull, mechanical beep signaling her to leave a message. Her hand began to shake as she hung up. She called him again and again, and each time it just went to his answering machine. There was no one to pick it up, no one to tell her it would all be ok. No one to love her. Her hero, her best friend, the love of her life... Was gone.

The phone began to ring again as it slid from her numb fingers. A feeling, dark and wild was rising inside her. It offered comfort, solace and a balm for her pain. Its sadistic whispering offered her a wold free of pain, a world that made sense. She gladly embraced this shadowy new feeling, surrendered herself wholly to it; and in so doing she, for a brief moment in time, went stark raving mad.

Harleen's bloodshot eyes shot open and bulged from her sockets. Her hands flew to her hair as she shrieked like she never had before. She tugged at her hair like a lunatic as she howled in unbridled anguish, falling to her knees as she screaming until her throat cracked painfully and her lungs burned for air.

" _Harleen!"_ Her Father bellowed as he crashed through the door. He rushed over to his baby girl and swept her into his arms, then frantically searched her with is eyes until he was sure that she was unharmed. And the very moment that he was sure she hadn't attempted to follower Conner into death, he heard a small voice speaking from the phone on the floor.

"Hey, this is Conner. I'm not hear so, ya know, leave me a message." So that's what had set her off. How many times had she called, only to receive that message? Paul squeezed his eyes shut in grief as he held his crying daughter, morning with her the loss of such a wonderful young man. He had been sure for years that Conner would someday be his son-in-law, and had treated him so for many years. To have him so suddenly ripped from their lives was... Crushing. Soul destroying. He hadn't felt sorrow like this since his beloved wife had died giving birth to the little treasure he now embraced. And more than anything, it killed him to know that there was absolutely nothing he could do to help her beyond sharing in her grief. And so he held her to his breast, rocking her back and forth like he had fifteen years ago; loving and mourning, comforting and weeping.

" _Daddy..."_ She finally managed to say though the tears, clutching to him like raft in a stormy sea.

"Yes Baby?"

"I just don't understand... _Why?!"_ She cried. "He said he loved me! He said we'd always be togethah, that we'd get married someday and... And..." Unable to continue, she dissolved into tears once more. Paul hugged her even more tightly and kissed her forehead, as though he could heal the scars on her mind and heart with such a simple gesture.

"And I'm sure he meant every word of it. I know he loved you too, with all his heart. I'm sure he meant to keep his promise." He reassured her.

"Then why would he... _Kill himself?!_ Why would he leave me like this?!"

"Oh Honey..." He said, his own voice beginning to crack as he stoked her hair. "He was just... Sick. He didn't wanna leave ya. What happened was the same as someone dyin' of cancer, or somethin' else. He was really brave, and he fought it as long as he could but... Eventually, it was just too much. The disease won."

"Then what's the point? What's the point in lovin' someone if you're just gonna lose them?" He shuddered at these words, words he had prayed never to hear from his baby girl. Those words that he himself had screamed to the uncaring heavens as he knelt on the grave of his wife.

"I... Don't know." He confessed. Harleen jerked in his arms, the words hitting her like physical blows. So not even her Daddy knew. Maybe there were no answers to be had. Only pain.

"But I think-" He breathed deeply before continuing. "I think that the moments we share are worth it. The laughs, the tears, the kisses and fights... The good and the bad times. Every moment that we share togethah is precious. And even though it hurts when we part, we'll still have those memories. And we'll still be the person we are because of them. And in that way, we'll nevah be apart. Not really."

"I-it doesn't feel worth it." She sobbed.

"I know Baby..." He crooned as he rocked her again. "I know."

"Will I evah see him again?" She pleaded.

"Yeah... Yeah ya will. I might not know a lot, but i know that."

And so they sat, father and daughter, holding each other and watching the rain fall outside the bedroom window; pouring down from the heavens as though the gods themselves grieved for their loss. After a few minuets he carried her to her bed and sat down, holding her close until she cried herself dry against him. And even after that, he held her still. They sat in silence as the hours ticked by, with no need for words or any sound beyond their breathing and the gentle patter of the rainfall.

"Daddy?" Harleen finally spoke, her voice stronger than it had been.

"Yes Honey?"

"How did ya... Get ovah it it? When Mom died?" She gazed up at him, her eyes speaking louder than words that her whole world hinged on his answer.

"Its been fifteen years, and I still miss her every day. I'm not sure ya _can_ get ovah somethin' like that. Not really. But... I had you." He told her as he gazed lovingly into her eyes, willing her to feel the infinite love he had for her in that single look. "My Little Beanpole." They both chuckled a bit at that. "I knew I had ta be strong for you. Ya needed me. And I guess... You gave me somethin' to live for. Somethin' ta fight for. A cause. I knew from the first moment I held you in my arms that I loved ya, and that I'd do anythin' for ya. And that gave me the strength I needed ta go on."

"So... You found a cause. Somethin' ta live for. Somethin' to fight for." He nodded, and she finally seemed to relax. He hoped that he'd chosen the right words. They were the truth, so the'd have to be good enough. He had nothing else to offer. After a long while, her steady breathing told him that she had finally fallen asleep. He laid her ever so gently on her bed, then tucked in her as he had a thousand times before. Then he leaned over and gently kissed her brow again.

"Sleep well, my Little Treasure." And with that he turned away, softly closing the door and leaving her alone in the dark.

* * *

The sun shown down brightly from the azure sky, seeming to mock the dark and sorrowful procession beneath it. Harleen, dressed from head to toe in black, walked alone in the line of mourners. Her Father would have been by her side, but he had been asked to be one of the pallbearers. Sam and Mikey where there too, carrying the coffin the held the cold corpse that had once been their dearest friend.

It had been a closed casket funeral. Someone said it was to spare the feelings of the mourners, but Harleen wasn't stupid. She knew the real reason. His remains had been deemed to gruesome to be viewed in public. She had vomited when she had first heard the news, her imagination conjuring up a seemingly limitless number of horrors that had been inflicted on her beloved. But she had long since cried herself dry, and now only the stony-faced grief of acceptance graced her features.

They finally reached the grave site, and Harleen couldn't help but notice the hole that yawned beneath the raised platform they set him on like some kind of monster eager to consume the man she loved. It was only with the greatest of effort that she managed to resist the irrational impulse to rush forward and scream for them to leave him alone, to beg them not to put him in that awful hole. But she knew that wasn't Conner; knew it wasn't the boy she had lived so many years with, shared so many dreams with and loved from the bottom of her heart. He was gone. She wasn't sure if she believed in heaven, but she knew without a doubt that if there was such a place, he was there. No one deserved heaven more than him.

Sam and Mikey were both weeping openly as they took their place beside her. Even her father was crying as he left the casket to join his daughter, grieving the son he'd been able to call by that name. Father Walsh, the priest who lead their small Irish-Catholic congregation, stepped forward. With a crestfallen countenance, he took his place before the casket as he began to address the gathering.

"When our people first came to this land, they were already a people much like our Lord; a people of sorrows, much acquainted with grief. They had endured loss, had shed enough tears it seemed to drown the world. And in their darkest times, they were shunned by those who should have reached out to them first. But still they had each other, as we do. And they had hope. Hope in a brighter future, and in a land of promise across the sea. It was this hope that drew them ever onwards, and that same hope which draws our eyes across the ocean we call death to the promised land beyond."

Conner's mother sobbed loudly into his father's chest. Harleen noticed that his older sister looked much like she herself did: Devoid of all emotion. Only the clenching of her jaw showed the grief that tore her apart inside. After pausing a moment in respect, the priest spoke again.

"But even more than life in heaven, those who cross into paradise first live on in those they leave behind. In our tears, our smiles and our laughter. In our memories, more precious than any earthly riches. And above all, in our lives which have been irrevocably marked by the love we shared with them; a love that will outlast all these mortal trappings and be renewed in our embrace in the sight of God." He crossed himself, signaling that he was to begin the prayer. Harleen dutifully crossed herself as well, no longer sure what to believe but feeling that she had to believe in something. She needed something to cling to in this storm. Perhaps that's all faith was in the end, people's way of finding meaning in a universe without meaning.

"Death... Is nothing at all. It is without meaning. I have but slipped into the next room; and all is as it was. The old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged. Whatever we were to each other, we are still."

Harleen ground her teeth together so hard she felt as though they would shatter like porcine. She had promised herself that she would be strong, that she would endure... She felt her Father wrap his arm about her, clearly sensing her distress. Nary a sob escaped her lips, but hot tears flowed freely from her cold eyes.

"Call me by the old familiar name. Speak of me in the easy way you always used. Put no sorrow in your tone. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we shared together."

Images flashed through her mind: Her and Conner playing hide and seek in her house, the time they had attended a family wedding and swiped frosting off the cake. The time they had swapped his sister's shampoo for honey, or how they had drunkenly laughed and joked just a few days ago on her birthday. Such precious, beautiful memories that she felt herself smiling through the tears. Memories that had made her life rich beyond measure, and that she would cherish all her days.

"Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household name that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort. Life means all that it always meant. It is the same as it ever was, a path that stretches forward unbroken. Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight?"

'You'll _never_ be out of my mind Conner.' She tearfully swore in the silence of her soul. 'If I live to be a thousand, I will _never_ forget the moments we shared together.'

"But I am waiting for you for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well, nothing is hurt; nothing is lost. One brief moment, and all will be as it was before. How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting, when we meet again."

With the end of the prayer, they all crossed themselves again. Now came the most difficult part. Harleen stepped forward, only to feel her father's hand tighten on her shoulder. "Are you sure about this?" He whispered. She smiled kindly at him and nodded. He took her word for it and released her to take her place by the coffin, with it between her and everyone else as was only proper. What she was about to do wasn't for them at all, it was for Conner.

The music began to play, and on cue she lifted her voice in a clear soprano and began to sing:

" _Take the wave now and know that you're free,_ _  
_ _Turn your back on the land face the sea,_ _  
_ _Face the wind now so wild and so strong,_ _  
_ _When you think of me,_ _  
_ _Wave to me and send me a song."_

" _Don't look back when you reach the new shore,  
Don't forget what you're leaving me for,  
Don't forget when you're missing me so,  
Love must never hold,  
Never hold tight but let go."_

 _Oh the nights will be long,  
When I'm not in your arms,  
But I'll be in your song, That you sing to me, across the sea.  
Somehow, someday, you will be far away,  
So far from me and maybe one day,  
I will follow you,  
And all you do,  
'Til then, send me a song. _

" _When the sun sets the water on fire,  
When the wind swells the sails of your hire,  
Let the call of the bird on the wind,  
Calm your sadness and loneliness,  
And then start to sing to me,  
I will sing to you,  
If you promise to send me a song." _

" _I walk by the shore and I hear,  
Hear your song come so faint,  
And so clear,  
And I catch it, a breath on the wind,  
And I smile and I sing you a song,  
I will send you a song...  
I will sing you a song,  
I will sing to you...  
If you promise to send me a song." _

As the music slowly died away, she leaned over and gently pressed her lips to the lid of the casket. "I'll never forget you Conner. Never." She whispered. And from that moment forward, there would be no more grieving for her. No tears. Only a promise: All who came to her with sickness in their minds and hearts would be healed. None would be refused, and none would be forsaken as being beyond hope. She would be their healer, their shield, their savior... Everything she had failed to be for the man she loved.

From that day until her graduation from college, she devoted herself utterly to her cause. For there was nothing in life but her oath and its fulfillment. She never dated, never took a day off. She never even laughed or cried. But beyond even this, never forgave herself and never forgot the wound that drove her forward. People called her many names, "Ice Queen" being perhaps the kindest. But they could never know, never understand what they couldn't see: A golden ring on a golden chain, hung ever about her neck and forever next to her heart.

* * *

Harleen splashed water in her face, washing away the ruined makeup and giving up on the idea. She gazed at herself in the mirror, her heart finally accepting the truth that gazed back at her. A decade and a half from her first kiss, and she was still that same freckle-faced girl. The girl who had played in the city with her posse, shared a night of passion with her boyfriend in a field of fireflies and wept over his lifeless body just a few days later. Her therapy had finally allowed her to accept that her compulsive need to heal the sick that grew from her oath, in combination with her repressed fun-loving identity, had made her an easy target for the Joker. He had allowed all that repressed laughter to come out, while twisting it to his own wicked ends. And as for her love...

"Conner." She whispered to the empty air. She never knew the Joker's name, but in her heart that was the name she had given him. She had felt that if she could just heal his madness with her love, she would finally regain the future that had been so cruelly stolen from her. And she had been a fool. That future was gone, lost forever to the darkness of death. But she still had her cause, and she now felt she could face it with an objectivity that never could have before. She had lost her way once, and never would again.

She dried her face, then limped over to her chest of drawers. Opening the top drawer, her gaze fell upon a small wooden chest, one of several items that Red had pilfered in her daring raid to recover Harleen's lost possessions from her hideout. Her fingers hesitated on the wood, tracing the patterns as she procrastinated the act. No. No more waiting, no more hesitation... No more doubts. It was time.

The wood lifted, revealing her most treasured possession: A cheep gold ring on a simple gold chain. She had kept in in this chest during her time with the Joker; knowing that she couldn't wear it but unable to give it up. And now the time had come to wear it again, to bear it and all it symbolized to her.

With tender hands, Harleen lifted the chain from its place and locked it about her neck. She gasped as she heard it click, a shock reverberating through her body. With that simple act, she had reclaimed her life; reclaimed her path. She'd heard about people joining churches feeling reborn, and decided that this was exactly what she was feeling. Rebirth and renewal...

The phone on her bedside table rang, jerking her out of her reverie. She picked it up and heard a voice that she recognized as one of the receptionists. "Ms. Quinzel?" She asked.

"Yeah, that's me."

"Your ride is here, she'll be meeting you at your room shortly." Before the woman had even finished her sentence, a series of sharp knocks resounded through the room.

"Yeah, I think she just got here. Thanks for the call." Harleen said before hanging up. 'And so, the good doctor arrives' she thought. This was sure to be a rough trip, but having Conner's ring hanging next to her heart again gave her the courage to face it, as though it were a magical or perhaps holy talisman to ward away evil. She smiled at the thought as she donned her coat and opened the door; only to have her smile vanish as her jaw dropped in shock. The person at the door was _definitely_ not Dr. Hinkley. Standing in her stead, grinning from ear to ear and wearing what was quite possibly the least convincing disguise in history, was Pamela Isley.


	11. Chapter 11

**Batman: Armistice**

 _ **Chapter Eleven**_

 **February 19th**

Ivy was at an impasse. On the one hand, she could attempt to convince Harley to flee with her into the woods right after the visit. This would appeal to her more selfish desires; but she'd be lying if she said Harley didn't need a shrink. And even beyond that, Harley was still a bit of a mess on the physical side of things and she wasn't sure that she would be able to provide the necessary care for her to fully recover. The perfection of plants was all that she really knew, human anatomy had always been beneath her interest; and medical care doubly so. Normally this fact wouldn't bother her, but it was rather inconvenient at the moment. Harley was the one person on earth she could honestly say that she loved, and in all likelihood she couldn't help her. The very thought was enough to make a girl wilt.

She frowned, then shook herself. Unpleasant, but there also wasn't anything she could do about it at the present moment... Beyond her current mission that was. She checked her reflection in the car's mirror, carefully inspecting her face to ensure that the makeup had a nice, even tone that concealed her natural complexion. Even if the rest of her disguise went off without a hitch, her distinctive greenish hue would be a dead-giveaway if noticed. With a smile, she concluded that she looked perfectly 'normal', if a little darker than her naturally pale skin would ever allow. Adding a long coat, attractive wide-brimmed hat and a pair of fashionable sunglasses and she would be fine. Concealing herself had _never_ been her style, but all she needed to do was instill enough doubt in the receptionist for them not to immediately call the cops; and that should be a cakewalk.

A few moments later, and she was standing before the doors of the hospital itself. People came and went, the door seemingly frantic to keep pace with the whims of the masses. Disgusting. Most trees could easily live for centuries, and even the shorter-lived species could endure storms that would obliterate even the toughest unsheltered human. And yet it was the beautiful trees that wound up dead and nailed together into garish monuments to the frailty of the human condition. Homo-sapiens were an embarrassment; cruel and fickle beings unworthy of consideration or affection... With one or two notable exceptions. And that precious, angelic spark of beauty was the soul reason that Ivy found herself in the heart of a city she had sworn to avoid like the plague.

Ivy took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and marched in with an air of confidence she was sure no one could question. It was obvious that the note she had received as well as the change in escorts was the brainchild of Batman... Or _Bruce Wayne_ , as it were. But that didn't mean that the staff were in the know, so exuding an aura of normalcy and charm was key. Though on further reflection, it _had_ been over four years since the incident where she had earned Gotham's enmity; and over two years since she had done anything overtly criminal at all. Perhaps they had forgotten her.

"Good-morning!" She told the pretty though somewhat vacuous-looking, middle-aged woman at the reception desk with a disarming smile. "I'm here to to pick up a patient by the name of Ms. Harleen Quinzel. I believe I have an appointment?"

"Yes, Ms... Alder?"

"Please, just call me Lilly." She said with another smile. The woman nodded cheerfully; only to have her expression alter ever so slightly after gazing at Ivy for a moment. The receptionist (her tag read "Jessica") glanced with what almost appeared to be casual interest at the board next to her. Ivy carefully followed her eyes from beneath her sunglasses, making sure as she did so not to tilt her head. And on the board was...

 _'Aw shit!'_ She thought in dismay. There were a number of wanted posters tacked to the board, and one of them was for _her_. And it wasn't even a recent one, it was dated for over _four years ago!_ Didn't they _ever_ take shit down in this city?! The expression Jessica wore when she looked back at Ivy clearly said that she had _not_ been informed as to who would be picking up Harls, and that she had just discovered for herself. Ivy prepared to use her pheromones to charm the woman whilst cursing this twist of happenstance in her mind. This broad was clearly several magnitudes sharper than she appeared.

A split second before Ivy exhaled the pheromones the receptionist's phone rang, halting the scene and stopping Ivy. The woman didn't take her eyes off the wanted eco-terrorist for even a second as she answered.

"Hello? Yes, this is she. Yes, she just arrived." She said slowly, beginning to look a little confused. 'What was this?' Ivy wondered. Had someone called specifically about her? It certainly sounded like that was the case.

"I'm sorry sir, but there's been a mistake. This is... _What?!"_ She exclaimed, completely losing her cool. Well this was interesting. "You-you already know?! And you _still..._ Yes. Yes, I understand. Yes sir." She hung up and and returned her gaze to Ivy, an almost maniacal grin plastered unnaturally on her face. "Her room number is seven-forty-eight, last room on the left. Have a pleasant day, _Ms. Alder_!" Jessica said through gritted teeth. Ivy nodded uneasily before stepping away from the desk. It couldn't be more obvious that she'd been found out, and that the receptionist would have liked nothing more than to turn her in... Yet, for whatever reason, she hadn't done so. By all appearances, her boss had instructed her not to. But why? Wayne. It had to have been him. He must have ordered the manager to make sure that she got through.

She cast her eyes suspiciously about the room as she slowly made her way through the waiting area, suddenly sure that she was being watched. The room _was_ full of people: An old lady in a floral dress and a bored looking couple in motorcycle leathers, a young lady nursing a baby beneath a blanket, a drab looking man idling away on his phone and a mousy young woman with a young boy sitting beside her. It could be any of them watching her, reporting back to their billionaire master. Ivy shivered. This was _exactly_ she hated human society. No matter where you went, you were being watched, judged and sized up like livestock for slaughter.

As she neared the elevator, she happened to look upwards at a small black orb that sat on the ceiling above her and nearly laughed at her own paranoia. There were no spies, none were needed! This entire place was under video surveillance! He could simply hack the cameras; no need for a personal touch. Although...

"I see. You need a gesture... An olive branch."

That's what he had said to her moments before revealing himself, and _that_ was about as personally involved as he could have possibly become. As to why he was, she still wasn't sure; but she knew she didn't buy his line about "protecting Harleen". Normally she would have chalked it up to infatuation, but someone like Batman was below even such base human impulses. In all likelihood, he was merely using her as bait, despite his protests to the contrary. And it wouldn't do for such a prime "lure" to come to harm.

A few minuets later she was standing before Harley's door. She raised her hand to knock, but hesitated. It had been a long time since she had seen Harley, and a few texts they had shared had spoken of extensive scaring... How badly had she been disfigured? Would she even be recognizable? She closed her eyes and steadied herself. No matter what she looked like, she would still be Harls, still be the woman she cared for so deeply. Nothing could ever change that.

Ivy rapped sharply on the door and waited. After a brief pause, it opened up and washed all her worries away.

Besides missing her hair, Harley Quinn was every inch the beauty that she remembered. The pretty blonde stood stock still for several long seconds, stunned at the sight before her. Then with a joyous cry, she fell forward and wrapped her arms around her visitor.

"Red!" She positively squealed as she nearly squeezed the life out of Ivy. "Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! What are ya doin' heah?! How did ya wind up my ride for the day?!"

"A little bird told me you needed a ride, and that the doctor couldn't make it." She replied. Then she hugged Harls again, reveling in the warmth of their joined bodies. God, she'd forgotten how wonderful that felt. "So, you about ready to go?"

Harley nodded. "Sure am! Just hang on a moment." She turned and slowly hobbled her way over to her bed, donning her jacket and then sitting down in a wheelchair. It broke Ivy's heart to see Harls in such condition, but at least she was walking. It could have been much worse. In point of fact, it _had_ been worse for several days...

Resolving herself to be helpful, Ivy walked behind the chair and reached for the handles; only to leap back as Harley snapped at her hand, almost taking her fingers off before grinning up at her friend.

"I got it Red!" She said cheerfully. Ivy nodded happily before starting down the hall. "Hey Harls, let's see if we can sneak out without the broad at the front desk seeing us. I'm pretty sure that she recognized me." Harley laughed out loud at this, which stung a little. Sure she wasn't the best at disguises, but _come on_. She had made _some_ effort!

"'Course she did, yah disguise sucks!"

Ivy winced. "Alright, I know it's not my strong suit, but I didn't do _that_ bad! I got these glasses, a nice hat, and I covered every inch of my visible skin with foundation!"

"Ya missed the inside of yah eahs." Harley said smugly, pointing to her friend in emphasis. Ivy was aghast. Had she _really_ made such a retarded mistake? Sure enough, one look in her makeup mirror showed her flawless tanned complexion ended inside her pale, greenish ear.

"Shit!" She cursed as Harley cackled from her wheeled throne.

"It's ok Red, I still love ya! Now let's get down ta the lobby, I got an idea!"

* * *

Down in the lobby, Harley looked around until she until she found the perfect candidate for her scheme: A young and _very_ bored looking boy who was idly flipping through an outdated issue of _National Geographic_. Content in the assumption that he would likely be perfect for the job, she turned to Ivy. "Hey Red, ya happen to get the name of the receptionist?" Ivy nodded.

"Yeah, her name's 'Jessica'." Harley nodded. Yeah, she knew the woman. On two of the very few occasions that she had left the hospital the past few months, Jessica had questioned her incessantly before finally allowing her to leave. She was both smart and extremely annoying. With this in mind, she wheeled herself up to the young boy.

"Hey, ya look a little bored. Wanna do somethn' fun?" He looked up at her with guarded interest.

"I'm not supposed to talk to strangers." He murmured cautiously.

"Relax kid, I ain't gonna rape ya or nothin'." Harley retorted flatly. Ivy covered her mouth in a vain attempt to muffle her snorts of laughter. "Look, ya can have a few pieces of candy here if ya do somethin' for me." she told him as she reached into her pocket and pulled out several pieces of taffy.

"What?" He asked, dropping his guard a bit more.

"Alright, listen up." She leaned up to him and whispered in his ear, a sly smile creeping across his face as he learned of her plan.

"Alright, I'll do it. Now cough up." The boy demanded as he held out his hand.

"Yah my kind of kid." She beamed, depositing the sweets in his hand. With that, he turned away and headed for the opposite side of the lobby. "Get ready to move." Harley said smugly. They inched to the edge of the center isle, staying just out of view of the desk as her child mercenary raised his voice.

 _"Jessica's a hairy gonad!"_ He bellowed at the top of his lungs. A woman who Harley assumed was his mother dashed frantically past them with murder in her eyes; and the two devious women rushed out the moment she had crossed the room's center. Harley glanced back at the receptionist as they exited the doors, and was gratified to see her eyes bulging in their sockets. It was a petty trick to play on a legitimately concerned woman, but it was still funny as hell.

They ran (or wheeled respectively) around the corner of the doorway, then laughed themselves silly. In all her time as the Joker's sycophant, Harley had forgotten the simple pleasures of friendship, and being reunited with Red was like a breath of fresh air.

"Y-you actually told him to call her that?!" Ivy eventually gasped. Harley shook her head.

"Naw, I just told him ta call her a mean name. That was all him!"

"A hairy gonad..." Ivy muttered. "That kid's going places!"

"Yeah, right ovah his mom's knee is my guess. His sacrifice will honored." Harley glibly declared, wiping away tears of mirth. "'Course, ya can't really blame the woman for freakin' out a bit. I mean, ya _are_ still a wanted criminal and ya _did_ kill several people."

"Not on purpose." Harley's companion protested. "Besides, I was _trying_ make them better than human; to give them the marvelous gift of existence on a higher plane, to live as one with Gaia! They should have thanked me!" And as Harley recalled, that really had been how Ivy had intended it. During the "terrorist attack" that had cemented her reputation as a villain, Ivy had planted a number of fast growing plants of her own creation in the water-mains of the city which, once matured, had released their spores into the water supply. The hope was that the spores would manipulate the DNA of whoever drank it, causing them to mutate into a quasi-plant being much like Ivy herself. However, that wasn't how things had turned out. Over two thousand people had become seriously ill as a result, and over a dozen people had died. A horrific attack when looked on from outside, but Harley understood that it was an accident; and that Ivy had been trying to serve the people of Gotham in the best way she knew how. In some ways, that made the situation all the more tragic.

"Yeah, folks nevah get it when yah tryin' to do 'em a solid." she agreed with a wave. "Though, I heard that a few of 'em sprouted spores or some shit so... I guess it was _kinda_ a success, a little bit?"

" _I_ told you about that, and it was an unmitigated disaster." Ivy grumbled. "Not one of those worthless homo-sapiens came even close to metamorphosing. Anyway, enough of that. We're getting this errand of yours taken care of and hitting a diner on the way back. I don't care if you're late getting back, you're getting a milkshake!"

" _Ah yeah!"_ Harley crowed, waving her arms and doing a bizarre sort of sitting butt-shake. Bless her green little ass, Red always knew how to put a smile on her face. Besides loving old-fashioned diners, she'd had enough of hospital food to make dumpster diving sound appealing. As they neared the end of the sidewalk, a flash of blue caught Harley's eye. "Red, wait." She suddenly commanded, eyeing the mailbox that they had almost passed. As she drew the envelope from her jacket, the small blue container loomed like a bloodthirsty giant in her view. It had been weeks since she had written the letter, yet she had failed to mail it off in that time. Her excuses to herself had been legion; but the truth was that she was afraid. She was terrified that her father wouldn't respond, and even more so that he might respond in the way her darkest fears told her he might. Disowned, cut-off, unwanted, _unloved._ These were the words that howled in her ears and whispered to her in her sleep...

"Hey, are you ok?" Ivy asked her. Harley nodded and swallowed what felt like a golf ball.

"Yeah, I... I just need to mail this letter."

"Ooohhh! Is it to a new boyfriend?" Ivy teased her friend.

"No, it's... To my father."

"Oh..." Harley gathered her courage as Ivy's voice trailed off into space. She could do this, she _had to do this!_ Before her resolve faded, she squeezed her eyes tightly shut and blindly groped for the handle, yanking the chute open and releasing the letter. The instant it fluttered from her hand, she felt about a hundred pounds lighter. For better or worse it was done, and she could breath again.

Ivy reached around and embraced the tiny, pale young woman before her. "You did the right thing Harls."

"I know." Harley replied as she reached up and gently squeezed her friend's arm. Then her hand drifted to the tiny golden band that rested beneath her shirt and warm against her heart. "I know." She repeated. And for one of the first times in years, she knew it was true.

"Now come on!" Ivy quipped gaily as she released her charge. "Let's get this shit over with and grab some grub!"

"Alright!" Harley cheered as they finished their walk to the car. "Though," she continued, her face becoming pensive. "I gotta finish my food _before_ get back. Last time I tried ta bring some shit back while Jess was on watch, she took it away. Said I "Might have drugs in it." Then I caught her drinkin' my drink aftahwards!"

"Are you _serious?!"_

"Serious as Mistah J when he finds out I'm ovah his crazy ass!" Ivy let out a loud guffaw at that as she imagined the Joker's red and contorted face moments before a blessed aneurysm took him from the world.

"Well, that's pretty serious. Hey, I've got an idea... We'll buy you two shakes."

"Two?" Harley asked in confusion.

"Yep. And we'll also swing by Walgreen's and pick up some ex-lax."

"Oh you're evil." The blonde cripple stated with a positively wicked grin.

"I know. But that's why you love me, right?" Ivy said coquettishly as she turned away to open the passenger side door.

"Damn right!" Harley declared with a smart slap to Ivy's curvaceous ass. The Redhead rounded on her playful adversary with eyes that gleamed first with shock, and then with lust.

"Hey, can't get me back! I got cripple protection!" Harley joked, gesturing as she did so to her chair. Ivy reached forward and seized her friend by the collar, not put off in the least.

"As if that will stop me. You know I'm not the kind of woman to be denied anything, _especially revenge."_ And with those words she pulled the blonde girl to her eager lips, her wild kiss infused with many months of pent up passion. Harley returned the kiss in kind, twisting her fingers into Ivy's crimson locks as their tongues battled for supremacy; carrying with them hot and delicious saliva that the two women gleefully drank like honey. After what seemed like ages, but what Harley expected was only a couple minuets, they parted.

"Hehe, _wow_... Hehehe gnnak gnnak!" She giggled, though this soon dissolved into the adorable snorting that she only made when she was either drunk or on cloud nine; and in this case it was most definitely the latter. As always, the pig-like noises elicited a laugh from Ivy, and soon the pair of them were giggling in the parking lot like a pair of giddy schoolgirls. This felt right, Harley mused as they pulled away and onto the street. The laughter, the jokes, the company of her dearest friend, even the kisses... In its own small, special way, this felt like home.

* * *

Unbeknownst to the two young women a dark, leather-clad figure had watched their every move from the hospital window: From the lobby to the parking lot, from the sending of the precious letter to their lust-fueled embrace; not a single moment was lost to his predatory gaze.

"Going to call it in?" His accomplice asked, her voice sweetly inquiring as he watched the pair enter their vehicle; a vehicle he had already tagged with a tracking device.

"I think it's about time, yeah." He answered with a grim smile as he raised his hand to his earpiece. The hunt was about to begin, and he sincerely hoped it would be a bloody one...

* * *

Harley found her mind wandering as they drove through the upscale neighborhoods en route to their destination. It looked like something out of a drama or a chick-flick like "The Back-Up Plan". Many of the houses looked amazingly old, made of brick and stylized mortar; with narrow windows and outer doors made from elegant wrought-iron. Typical of city houses of that period, there were no yards; however each and every home had a well-trimmed tree that stood before it, a token bit of green to add a dash of color and life to the ancient streets. Though she had always been too poor to live in such an area, she had many fond memories of running up and down streets like this on Halloween; flitting from door to door begging for sweets whilst dressed as this or that video game or anime character. The people in places like this often gave away full-sized candy bars, and so children knew to hit them up before anywhere else.

She wondered vaguely if she would ever live somewhere like this, if it would someday be her opening the door for children with a bowl of candy. Once upon a time such a destiny had seemed all but certain, yet now it seemed like a hazy mirage.

"-Earth to Harley! Anyone home?!" Harley snapped out of her bemused state with a sheepish smile.

"Sorry Red, I got a bit distracted." With a start, she noticed that they were slowing to a stop in front of one of the towering brick houses. So this was it. The home of Barbara Gordon. It looked so fair, so tranquil... There was a flower bed beneath every window, and flowers on the inside to compensate for the vibrancy that winter had stolen away. It was difficult to imagine that any shadow could ever darken such a sanctuary, but it had. Dear God it had, and it had left scars that nothing in all the world could heal...

"Look, I know this is going to be rough on you." Ivy began, her voice full of compassion. "Both of you probably. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, every step of the way."

"Thanks Red. I dunno know if I could do this without ya." Harley whispered. She reached out and squeezed her friend's hand with a gratitude that she couldn't have given justice in words.

"Before we go in I... I have something for you." Ivy continued, her voice suddenly far less self-assured. It sounded hesitant, almost bashful. Harley looked down as Ivy handed her a small item wrapped what looked like a handkerchief. She eagerly unwrapped it, then squealed with joy at the gift that was revealed.

"Aw Red, I love it!" She shouted before planting a firm kiss on her companion's lips. After a moment she withdrew and examined her present in greater detail. It was a friendship bracelet; a woven band adorned with a number of charms and with room for several more. There was a smiling drama mask, an adorable turtle, a tiny grand piano and... Her breath caught. Three of the charms were silver, but the final was different. It was a rose in full bloom, cast from a gentle pink metal that she recognized as rose-gold. It was so intricate, so utterly flawless that she could even detect tiny drops of dew resting on the open petals. "Oh _Red_... It's so _beautiful!"_ She looked up with tears of gratitude in her eyes. "Thank you!"

"Anything for you Harls..." She muttered, casting her eyes aside in a way that Harley could only interpret as shyness. Harley reached out and drew Ivy close, her kiss this time gentle and loving. They sat there for a long moment, each relishing the feeling of their silken lips against the others. They finally parted, and Ivy smiled tenderly. "Come on, let's go." Harley nodded, then watched as Ivy exited walked around to the trunk. She halted briefly in behind the car to send off a text message before extracting the wheelchair and bringing it to Harley.

"Who was that, your boyfriend?" She teased as Ivy opened the door.

"Not a snowball's chance in hell." She retorted with such severity that Harley had to chuckle a bit. Whoever it was, they were definitely on her shit list. "Come on, gimp express!" Ivy declared with a grand gesture to the chair. Harley chuckled again and extracted herself, wincing slightly at the tightness that had already built up in her back and legs from the car ride. Clearly the vibrations weren't doing her any favors. As the approached the door, Harley was _almost_ grateful for the smooth wheelchair ramp that had been added alongside the steps. Almost.

'Well, here goes nothing' She thought before ringing the doorbell. She waited anxiously until the door creaked open and revealed a tall, muscular woman with dark hair, an olive complexion and fierce eyes.

"Ah, Ms. Quinn?" The woman asked. She nodded. "And this is?" The woman inquired with a glance at Ivy.

"Lilly. Lilly Alder." She answered without missing a beat; her disguise perhaps slightly more convincing now that she had filled the gaps in her makeup. She extended her hand to the woman, who shook it warmly.

"Helena Bertinelli. I'm a friend of Barbara's. Please, come in." She invited them with a warm smile. The followed her into the hall, the hardwood floor creaking slightly as Harley rolled over the boards, and the air smelling sweetly of incense and spice.

"Hey Barbs, it's them!" Helena bellowed down the hallway.

"Great, we're ready for them!" So that was her. That voice belonged to Ms. Gordon. Harley had met her father several times (many of them in less than positive circumstances), but she'd never met his daughter before. Wait, she said "we"... Who the hell was "we"?

As they entered the living room on the left, a harsh and almost oppressive air settled upon her like a suffocating veil. Helena left the two women standing alone before the center of an emerging tableau and took her place on the left of the two other women in the room, thus completing the scene.

On the far right, there stood a woman who looked like she could have been Helena's sister but for a few minor details; the first and most notable of which was her immense size. She was easily one of the largest women Harley had ever personally met, towering over every other person in the room at a height that _easily_ broke the six-foot mark. Though her eyes were the same dark brown as Helena's, they were more almond in shape; giving her a constantly laid-back and almost haughty expression which was complimented by her uniquely straight and sharply down-turned nose. The overall effect served to remind Harley strangely of an ancient Greek statue or something along those lines.

And in the center sat an incredibly cute, freckle-faced redhead in a highly advanced wheelchair; a woman could only be Barbara Gordon herself. Her eyes, almost as green as Ivy's, sparkled with mirth and her smile was equally friendly and inviting; though both these features belied strained air that enveloped her. In spite of her clearly limited mobility, she gave the impression a coiled spring that could launch into the air at a moment's notice. Moreover, the way that she sat in her chair was equally if not more disconcerting: Whereas Harley had never been comfortable in her chair, Barbara sat upon hers with a dignity more befitting an empress on a throne than a cripple chained to her only mode of mobility. The sun which shown in through the window behind her bathed her in a radiant golden light, lending her even further majesty than her demeanor had bestowed upon her. Given the reason for her visit, it was intimidating in the extreme.

"So you're Ms. Quinzel... As I'm sure you've guessed, I'm Barbara Gordon." She said with a polite not of her head. "I'm so glad you could make it out here today. I'll admit, I heard that you're still recovering and was a little worried that wouldn't be able to keep our appointment." After allowing a very awkward moment of silence, Barbra continued. "You already met Helena of course, and the giant over here Diana Prince. She's another friend of mine, almost more of a big sister actually."

"A pleasure." Diana greeted her in a tone that struck the perfect balance between warmth and dignity. Try though she might, Harley couldn't eek out a word in response. She suddenly understood the phrase "Having a frog in your throat"; her throat felt clogged, tight and clammy and she was sure that nothing but a croak would emerge if she managed to make a sound at all. She simply couldn't tear her eyes away from the chair that Barbara sat in; not because she was in any way unacquainted with such a sight, but rather because this exquisite young woman was trapped in that chair _because of her._ Harley had been granted a reprieve from such a life, and she was suddenly absolutely convince that she shouldn't have been; that she didn't deserve such luck. Why should she, a lunatic, thief, vandal and murderer be allowed to continue walking while this sweet girl who had never hurt anyone; who's only sin had been being born to the chief of police, had been robbed of her legs forever?

"So... I heard that you wanted to talk to me... Are you alright?" Barbara asked, no longer looking quite as confident. Ivy seemed to sense that something was amiss and laid a hand on her friend's shoulder.

"Harls, are you ok?"

"I.. I..." She desperately tried in vain to speak. A feeling of unbearable guilt overwhelmed her, and she fell forward out of her chair and onto her hands and knees, prostrating herself before the living embodiment of her wicked past.

" _Harls!"_ Ivy cried in dismay, rushing forward to pick her up; only to halt as she began to speak.

"I'm s-sorry!" She stammered as the tears began to flow in a hot and almost steady stream from her eyes. "God I am _s-s-so fuckn' s-sorry! I didn't know, I sweah I had no idea!"_ Her tears fell and splattered on the wooden floor like the blood of this woman had not so long ago. She could see it clearly now in her mind's eye: The sweetly smiling face of Barbara Gordon twisted in agony as her life's blood ran out onto the floor and pain shot like fire up her ruined spine; a pain that was renewed with every lewd thrust from the grinning devil that violated her even as she lay dying beneath him.

Her guilt morphed and transformed the vision in her minds eye to a Hispanic man who lay in a pool of gore, torn apart by her grenade. He had been a member of Dent's gang, a violent man, a gun for hire... But moments before she had let the explosive loose, she had heard him talking about his baby son's second birthday party and how much he had loved the box of dinosaur toys he had received.

Harley's voice came out in hacking sobs, her apologies an incoherent deluge as she relived yet another memory. This time she was staring at a car that had crashed not far from a trio of men she had gunned down, the result of an arms deal gone bad. There were two teenage girls in the front seats, both killed by stray bullets... _Her bullets._ Neither of them looked a day over eighteen. In the back seat, another girl was screaming in agony and horror, as though her mind had shattered trying to process the sight of her friend's broken corpses. Harley had wanted so badly to step forward to help, to do anything to comfort the girl and quiet the shrieking... But she hadn't. She had just stood there numbly, her ears echoing with that poor girl's cries, her nose sucking in the scent of burnt gunpowder and spilt blood. In that moment, she would have given anything to have traded places with either of the dead girls in the front seats; to have given her life for theirs. That night she had nearly joined them in death, having drunk herself to the brink of oblivion. It would have been fair, it would have been _right_. If anyone deserved to have their brains blown out, it was her...

"I know I can nevah come close ta makin' it up to ya... But I'm sorry..."

"I won't accept that." Came the simple reply from above her head, a reply that hit Harley like a ton of bricks. So that was that. She should have expected this; a piece of trash like her didn't deserve forgiveness and the fact that she had dared to ask had likely been seen for the insult that it-

"I won't accept it because you've done nothing wrong to me. You have nothing to feel guilty about." Harley felt a gentle hand cup her chin and raise her tear-streaked face. It was a familiar and comforting gesture, one that she was sure she had felt before... As her reddened eyes met the clear green ones above her, she suddenly remembered: Bruce Wayne. It was he who had lifted her gaze to meet his in such a manner a few months ago, quelling her fears with his kind words of comfort. It was a common enough gesture, but she found herself wondering still if they knew each other; if Bruce Wayne was perhaps a family friend and if he had once lifted Barbara's grief-stricken face as he had Harley's, and as Barbara now had as well.

"B-but I-"

"Did you know what he was planning, what he did?" Barbara inquired, cutting her off. Harley shook her head vigorously in denial.

"No! I swear ta God, I had no idea! If I'd known I'd _nevah_ have accepted it! Nevah!"

"Then there's nothing to forgive." Barbara whispered soothingly. Harley couldn't accept it. She could have accepted hatred or anger or rejection or _anything_ else... But not mercy.

"B-but I was with him, I supported him, I-"

"Stop it." The smiling redhead demanded with a sudden harshness. Then, in a gesture far different from her tone, she reached out to Harley and wiped her tears away. "You have enough sins of your own to atone for. I won't let you atone for his too." Her once strong voice dropped to such a hush that Harley almost missed her next words. "Besides... I'm not the only one he hurt. I know what he did to you too."

With a low cry, Harley wrapped her arms around the waist of the woman before her and began to sob hysterically into her lap. A few seconds later, she became aware of the fact that Barbara had embraced her as well; that her body also shook as she wept. And so it was for several long moments, as the two women who had once might have been enemies now held each other like sisters and shed their tears as one; healing tears that cleansed the wounds in their hearts as the sun shown down upon them through the window, warming them to the core. After a time they parted, wiping their tears away on their sleeves in identical gestures.

"Ugh, Dad always said a lady shouldn' wipe her nose on her sleeve." Harley said as she commited the very uncouth act she had just decried.

"Eh, fuck that." Barbara retorted disdainfully as she dirtied her own sleeve. Harley laughed and smiled for the first time since entering the building. Somehow, in just a few minuets, it seemed like they had gone from strangers and possibly enemies to friends. Their shared pain had torn down their barriers in a way that hours of banter couldn't. Just one more in a seemingly never-ending series of small miracles.

Harley attempted to stand only to stumble and fall forward towards a shocked Barbara, her already weak legs further weakened by her crying. She reached out to catch herself, but felt an hand seize her by each arm. She looked over to see two friends supporting her; a green-skinned beauty on her left and the gentle giant on the right. What was her name again? Oh yeah, Diana. Cute name for a cute broad.

"Thanks guys." Harley muttered bashfully as they deposited her once more in her chair.

"No problem." Diana replied cheerfully. Ivy, for her part, settled for hugging her friend.

"So, with all that out of the way, would you like to stay for lunch?" Barbara invited the two of them. Harley shook her head.

"Thanks for the offah, but we were gonna hit up a dinah and nab some grub on the way back."

"Then, mind if we join you?" Harley looked over at Ivy and shrugged.

"It's yah cah Red," She said. "You make the call."

"I'm fine with it." She replied in an indifferent tone as she attempted to conceal a smile. Harley didn't bother with such facetious deception and grinned from ear to ear as she turned her attention back to the other women.

"Alright ladies, let's roll!"

* * *

Harley sighed contentedly as she collapsed onto her hospital bed, her jovial humor far outweighing the slightly sick feeling in her stomach. She had absolutely pigged the _fuck_ out at lunch, but she didn't care. It had been _totally_ worth it; and besides, a little hedonism now and then never hurt anyone, right?

Of course, Jessica had ripped her a new one when she got back, and she had responded with her characteristic dignity and sophisticated grace; namely sticking out her tongue and blowing a loud raspberry. Of course her remaining milkshake had been confiscated by the receptionist shortly thereafter, but that was ok. After all, it had been intended for her anyway.

The late morning and early afternoon had been a truly joyous diversion, and marked the first "girl's day out" that she had had in well over a year. On that note, she wondered if roping Selina into her new group of friends was a possibility. The woman was a grade-A shut-in, but even _she_ enjoyed the occasional night on the town.

She stared happily at the ceiling as memories of the past few hours danced through her head. The conversation and company had far outstripped the food, which was no mean feat. But there were a few moments that stood out in her mind far above the rest...

First, there was the moment that Barbara had come out as a fellow anime nerd (otaku was likely a little harsh for either of them, or at least that's what Harley told herself). Harley had been in the process of using her best puppy-dog eyes to inveigle Ivy into buying her a second helping of cake-bites when Barbara (or Barbie as Harley had taken to calling her) had pumped her fist into the air and shouted _"Moe!"._ This confused everyone but Harley, who had laughed uproariously in response to the cry; and they had spend the next few minuets babbling about things that the others couldn't even begin to comprehend.

Then there was the oh-so-ladylike belching competition. The shouts of "Chug, chug, chug!" still rang in her ears from when they had downed a full shake each and let it rip. Harley had been the undisputed winner, though Helena had been a surprisingly serious contender. Helena had chalked it up to her "Italian heritage", but had Barbra laughingly retorted "Naw, I'm pretty sure you're just gross."

And last but certainly not least was their "test of courage"... With french fries. They had taken turns eating a fry from either end to see who would chicken out first. Unsurprisingly, Barbara and Helena had both folded early. The real shock was that Harley had folded not long after, leaving Ivy and Diana as the finalists. While they ate, and kissed, their way through no less than _fifteen_ fries, the two had flirted in a fascinating manner that was both utterly shameless and yet oddly sophisticated, until Diana decided that she'd had enough and let loose with a zinger that had taken everyone at the table by surprise. As they made their way down their sixteenth fry, the enormous woman had arched her brow and murmured "Let's try it with out _other_ lips next, shall we?" Ivy recoiled in shock, releasing the fry and handing victory to her smirking opponent.

Come to think of it, Harley found it a little curious that Ivy's pheromones hadn't affected Diana at all as far as she could tell. Perhaps her sheer mass had prevented them from taking immediate effect? If that were the case and it _was_ a "slow-burn" effect, then the poor woman would likely be a drooling basket-case for the next day or so. Anyone Ivy kissed became her temporary slave; and only the special treatment the temptress had given Harley made her immune to its effects.

All in all, it had been a truly glorious day... A far better one that she had dared to hope for when she had first awoken. And now she couldn't wait to finish her therapy and rebuild her life outside these sterile walls; a life that was now three-smiles brighter. Speaking of smiles...

Harley examined her new bracelet once more, grinning like a fool at the wonderful gift, especially that _rose!_ With a squeal of delight, she clutched it to her breast near the hidden ring. Today, she felt like the luckiest girl alive.

 **Author's Note:** It's been a long while, hasn't it? Sadly, I suffered a horrible back injury that had me bedridden for several days; and I mean "Can't even move due to the pain" level bedridden. I guess I can now empathize and not merely sympathize with our plucky heroine. Even once I could walk again, I was in so much agony for a few days that sitting at my desk and writing was OUT. But I'm back in the game now, so let the adventure continue!

P.S. Congrats to any of my readers who are happy about the election results here in the USA! And if any of you aren't... Well, don't worry. I promise you'll be fine, you'll see. Read my story, be happy, and press ever onward to what I swear on a stack of comic books will be a brighter future!


	12. Chapter 12

**Batman: Armistice**

 _ **Chapter Twelve**_

 **February 19th**

The warm summer rain that soaked Bruce's skin did little to warm the chill that gripped his soul as he gazed down at the bodies before him before him: A man and a woman, laying in a pool of their own blood. The man he had shot twice in the chest, the woman once through the throat when he realized that raping her would take too long after his gunshots were heard. If he gave into his lust he would be caught for sure. The man gazed listlessly at his already dead wife, seemingly gathering his strength for a final word to the woman he had failed to defend.

"Martha..." He sighed the word with his final breath, then laid still. Their young son knelt beside them, numb with shock. After what seemed like ages, he lifted his head and locked his tear-stained eyes with Bruce's,

" _Why?_ " The boy asked in a frail, broken voice.

"I-I had to." Bruce's excuse sounded pathetic even to himself. "I didn't want to but... In war, people die. It's horrible, but it happens. There was nothing I could do."

"What are you talking about?!" The child screamed at him. _"What war?!_ You killed my Mom, my Dad! What did they ever do to you?!"

"Th-they tried to kill me! It was me or them!" He shouted back through the pounding rain, desperately seeking to justify the sick feeling of guilt that burned in his guts.

" _You liar!"_ The boy howled. _"You're Batman! No one can hurt you! You're invincible!"_

Bruce gazed mournfully down at his blood-splattered front, suddenly cognizant of the many wounds he had suffered over the years. Not the forceful heat of the bullets that had pierced his skin, nor the dull impact of the blows that bruised and split his flesh or even the searing pain of the blades that had sliced into his body; but of the wounds of guilt and shame and grief that were carved into his very soul. Drugs and alcohol hadn't numbed them when he had tried them, meditation hadn't quieted them and therapy had never been an option. Even his attempts at seeking healing in love had failed every time, leaving him alone in his pain. "No, no I'm not." He whispered.

But the child was hearing none of it. He pulled is mother's and father's head's onto his lap, stroking their hair as Bruce imagined they might have done to him mere hours before. He once more raised his face and spoke.

"Please don't leave me alone." He sobbed. "Finish it. Kill me too." The child bowed his head and cried over the bodies of his parents, leaving Bruce to his choice. Seeing no other option, Bruce raised his gun and pulled the trigger. The sound of the gunshot nearly deafened him as the bullet flew from the barrel faster than the eye could track, puncturing the poor boy's skull and blowing his brains out the back of his head in a shower of blood, bone and gore.

And so it was done. The dynasty of the Wayne family had ended in the space of a few brief minuets. As Bruce turned away from the scene of the massacre and prepared himself to flee the police who he could hear fast approaching, he happened to catch a glimpse of himself in a broken mirror that rested against the alley wall and was startled when the person that looked back at him didn't have his face at all, but rather bore the visage of Joe Chill.

* * *

Bruce awoke from the nightmare and rubbed his face in in both weariness and annoyance. The dream was one he had had before, and would surely have again. Once such dreams would have horrified him, making him jerk awake with a cry and covered in sweat; but after so many years he now found them simply exhausting. Of course, it didn't take a genius or even a bottom-of-the-barrel psychologist to tell him what it meant: He felt guilty over the many people he had killed or otherwise caused to die; pitied the children he had stolen a parent from and the families he had shattered. Sometimes he made a serious effort not to think about the consequences and casualties of his war, but it never worked for long. After all, understanding was the curse of intelligence; and Bruce was more intelligent than most... Doing his best to put the dream out of his mind, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table and saw to his great annoyance that he had awoken nearly two hours early. He briefly considered attempting to sleep again, but quickly discarded the notion. He knew from experience that there could be no sleep after such a nightmare.

"Mmmph..." A stirring beside him caught his attention, and he smiled as the memories of the previous night came back to him. Caitlin lay beside him, stretched out across chaotic mess of a bed, her tanned skin and dark hair contrasting beautifully with the white silken sheets. He noticed with no small amount of interest that she had pulled the blankets down, exposing her voluptuous breasts to his view. It seemed the air wasn't chilled enough to cause her any discomfort, but was just cold enough for her dark, chocolate-colored nipples to stand enticingly erect. Perhaps he'd take advantage of this when he briefly woke her up, as it was only polite to let her know that he was leaving before he vanished; especially after the day they had had. They had fought bitterly the previous morning, but there was a lot of truth to the old adage that "make-up sex was the best". They'd gone at it like animals for hours, and even _he_ was feeling a little sore this morning... Which meant she would be incapacitated for some time yet. But while _she_ could afford to sleep, he knew there would be no rest for him today.

"Hey, Caitlin... Wake up Honey." He whispered as he shook her gently by the shoulder. When the only response he got was an incoherent grumble, he leaned over and gently kissed her bronze shoulder. This lead to a slightly more contented noise, but she was still out like a light. Emboldened by his lack of success, Bruce finally caved to temptation and lightly nibbled her firm nipple.

"Eeep!" She squealed, jerking awake. Partially to mollify her and partially to sate his own lust, he sucked hard on her nipple, eliciting a highly erotic moan from his lover's lips.

"Bruce..." She groaned, running her hands through his hair before making a vain attempt to hold him against her when he pulled away.

"You can go back to sleep in a moment; I just wanted to let you know that I was leaving."

"You sure you can't stay? I'm fine with doing it again." She told him in a voice that was decidedly more sleepy than sultry. He laughed and gave her a quick kiss.

"You sleep Love, and I'll call you when I'm on my way home from my conference."

"Ok." She yawned. "Oh! Don't forget about our date this evening!"

Bruce grimaced internally in spite of the smile he kept plastered to his face. Their "date" that evening happened to be a double date with Congressman Frank LoBiondo and his wife, making it far more politically charged than he preferred for a night on the town; especially since the primary topic of conversation would most likely be campaign strategies.

With the recent election of Jack Ciattarelli to the office of governor, the state of New Jersey had been governed by two Republican governors in a row, breaking a long line of Democratic power in the state... At least at the top. In spite of this, Democratic hopeful Hilary Clinton had soundly defeated President Trump in the state with sixty-three percent of the vote; a clear signal that the Blue Party still had a significant power-base in the state, even accounting for some fairly shady voting behaviors. These facts, when taken together, made running as a Republican who advocated such radical change as he did a dicey proposition. It would likely be inevitable however; as the changes he advocated and beliefs he espoused had completely alienated him from the political left, and the Libertarian Party still wasn't powerful enough to give him a serious chance at election...

"No worries, I won't forget." He told her before kissing her again.

"Ok. Call me..." She murmured, then she rolled over and promptly fell asleep. He chuckled lightly as he arose and pulled a set of gym clothes from their designated space in his walk-in closet. Truthfully, he held no particular fondness for politics and had been shocked by Caitlin's passion for acquiring political power and influence. She seemed almost fanatical in her devotion to his fledgling campaign, so much so that he actually found it somewhat distasteful. He might not have cared as much if she had been equally as interested in his many philanthropic projects, but she had never viewed them as particularly worthy of note. Power seemed to be the end to her, rather than the means. Power _and_ wealth, hence their argument yesterday.

Bruce shook his head, clearing the unpleasant thoughts from his mind. There was no point in spoiling a good mood with bad thoughts, and he still had a long day ahead...

A few minuets later, Bruce was sitting in the gym and training room that adjoined the Batcave, holding a syringe in his hand as he debated which leg to use today. Both his left and right thighs were covered in track marks, though he _had_ be focusing a little more on his left leg of late. Making up his mind, he pushed the needle into his muscle on the right and injected his body with the steroid compound it contained; taking care as he did so to avoid any major veins. It wouldn't do for the drug to metabolize _too_ quickly. He'd made that mistake before and paid for it with a week of heart issues before his body had cleaned itself out. Thankfully, he was now down to two injections a week; a huge step down from his original ration of six. At this rate, he'd be clean in just a few more months. A little weaker and less energetic perhaps, but what strength and power remained would be all his own.

Once that was done, he stood up and paced briskly about the room, helping the drug to work its way into his system; though he knew he would still need almost an hour before he could begin his exercise. As he paced, he went over his checklist for the day: After working out and properly disguising himself, he would be heading over to Gotham General to ensure that Harleen's outing went off without any issues, especially of the green-haired clown variety. Then he'd have a meeting with a certain "businessman" before his flight to the Tower for the monthly "Justice League Review and Report", a meeting that amounted to socializing with some of his best friends as often as not. And then dinner... He knew it was patently ludicrous, but he almost hoped that some world-threatening monster would appear just so he could take a rain-check. Compared to the shady, underhanded world of politics; another fight with Doomsday or Solomon Grundy seemed almost enjoyable, and less likely to make his ulcers act up.

"Excuse me Sir, I'm not interrupting any deep philosophical musings am I?" Alfred called from the door. Bruce had been expecting him and the tray he carried, but had been so lost in thought that he hadn't noticed him arrive.

"No, just going over my schedule for the day." He replied, walking over to meet his friend. "Well, that and walking off my injection. I'm down to two a week by the way."

"Oh good, I was beginning to wonder whether I was serving Bruce Wayne or Bruce Banner."

"Oh I'm a comic-book character now am I?" Bruce replied with a roll of his eyes.

"Of course not. Now as you can see, I have your pre and post workout alchemical sludges here, as well as your 'I-have-the-stomach-of-an-eighty-year-old-man' juice."

"Well, when you put it that way, who could resist such a bounty?" Bruce wryly retorted. "Go ahead and set them aside for the moment, we have an appointment in the lab first."

"Oh good Lord, not again..." Alfred groaned, rolling his eyes as he set the tray aside.

"Yes, again." Bruce said grimly as he marched down the hall to the laboratory. "Come on Alfred, we've been doing this for months now, twice a week like clockwork. I need to build up an immunity to this new toxin." He heard Alfred halt in his tracks behind him and turned about to face the visibly upset old man.

"And has it occurred to you that perhaps I don't _enjoy_ locking the person I care most about in a tube full of poisoned gas that drives him out of his mind?" The butler spat. "Besides, in all this time there has been no change or improvement worthy of note. It may be that one cannot _become_ immune to this toxin. In fact, knowing Dr. Crane as we do, it's likely that he designed it that way! You have the antidote, that should be enough!"

"The antidote has to be injected and still takes several minuets to work! That's too long if I get hit in a fight!" Bruce shouted back. Upon seeing his friend's expression, he softened his tone and reached out, laying a soothing hand on Alfred's shoulder. "I know you hate it. Believe me, I hate it a lot more."

"I just... I can't stand hurting you like this Bruce. Seeing you in such pain." Alfred whispered. "I wish there was some other way."

"So do I Alfred." Bruce replied as he released his butler and continued on into the laboratory. "So do I. But if we do it now, my workout will flush this crap out of my system all the faster. And anyway, you know what they say. That which doesn't kill you..."

"Drives you _stark raving mad_ apparently." Alfred grumbled. Bruce laughed and stepped into the vertical, tube-like capsule; pressing himself against the cool vinyl and taking care to rest his limbs between the holes where the restraints would appear.

"Alfred!" Bruce hollered as the old man took his place at the computer. "Whatever happens, whatever you hear, don't let me out early."

"Yes Master Bruce." He replied as the tube closed with a hiss and the mechanical restraints shot out around Bruce's legs, wrists and waist. He could already feel the first twinges of fear creeping upon him and steadied himself as the fist scent of the gas reached his nostrils. This toxin caused his brain to behave oddly, altering his world perception if he could move or pulling him into an illusionary nightmare if he couldn't.

His vision blurred as the poison took hold of him, then morphed into a familiar sight: Himself and Caitlin in the Conservatory, just like they had been yesterday. At first their lips moved without even the barest whisper of a sound, then their voices grew like a swelling tide in his ears.

"You made the paper." Bruce told her, tossing the newspaper on the glass tabletop before him; his eyes like daggers.

"I know! Chantel showed me at the office!" She beamed, oblivious to the frigged aura that permeated the air about her lover.

"Riches to Rags, Gotham City Millionaire Elliot O'Toole looses it all in divorce!' Quite the headline. One of Gotham's greatest men ruined by a two-timing whore."

"I thought you'd be proud of me. This was a big case, an important step up for me!" Caitlin snapped, her good mood vanishing in an instant.

" _Proud of you?!"_ As Bruce watched the scene unfold, every emotion struck him again with the same force they had before; hurt, rage, confusion and betrayal in equal parts churning within him. "Your 'big step up' used an innocent man's life as a footstool! I checked the files, he was innocent of every horseshit accusation made against him _and you knew it!"_

"Never mind that those files were confidential and _fuck knows_ how you got into them," She ranted, her face contorted with rage. "What was I supposed to do huh?! Pass up my big chance to break into divorce court?! It's one of the most profitable courts out there; and this was an open and shut case! The courts always favor women, especially pretty ones! And yeah she was screwing around but come on, who doesn't cheat? She was done with his old ass, and they had a shit-load of differences anyway... So I got her what she was entitled to, got a _damn good_ check for myself and made a name for myself! Nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with _doing your job!"_

"Jesus Christ, _do you hear yourself?!"_ Bruce shouted incredulously. "Yeah, the courts _do_ favor women... So you'll just run with that? Cash in on people's ignorance and prejudice? And what the hell do you mean 'what she's entitled to'?! Like she should be able to take everything he spend his _entire life_ building just because she _spread her legs?!"_

"Someone like you wouldn't understand." She sneered. "Or maybe you're just worried that it could be _you_ someday!"

"I'm worried that _you_ don't have a conscience! And 'someone like me' meaning _what_ exactly?" He retorted. "Someone who's rich? I wouldn't understand what it's like to sell out my morals for a few lousy bucks?! Is that it?!"

"Someone who's never gone through anything hard in his _whole fucking life!"_ She screamed in his face. Her eyes suddenly widened in horror as she realized what she had said. "Oh God... Bruce, I'm so sorry..." Without another word, he struck her with an almighty blow, sending her sprawling to the ground in a spray of blood and broken teeth. He straddled her and wrapped his hands around her throat, throttling her with all his strength. He grinned viciously as he felt her windpipe being crushed in his grip, her pleading eyes rolling back into her purple head as her heels beat a death-rattle on the ground behind him. The sounds grew weaker and weaker, and finally she lay still...

Bruce closed his eyes and shook his head, clearing the vile images from his mind. That wasn't what had happened at all, he would have _never_ done such a thing. After her final words, he had stormed out and they had made up later that same day; each apologizing for their harsh words and her promising never to take a case like that again. He hadn't laid a finger on her and never would.

As he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the clean floor of an emergency room hallway. A young girl was in the next room, having a charred and melted suit peeled from her seared flesh. Tears ran down his face as he listened to her screams, screams that reached him even in the hall. He closed his eyes once more, praying to the Gods that it would end. The screams died away, and he dared looked again.

Another hospital, this time he was standing beside the quiet form of Barbara Gordon. The doctor was speaking to him, but he could only catch a phrase here and there. Severed nerves. Shattered spine. Total paralysis. She would never walk again. Tortured, raped... He squeezed his eyes shut again. He wished he could say it wasn't real, but it was. Goddamn his wretched life, Crane's nightmare gas didn't even _need_ illusions to screw with his head. A scream shocked him out of his attempt at meditation and opened his eyes.

Another hospital... It was always a hospital. Once more he sat in the hall, once more he listened to the wails and shrieks of a young woman, only this time it was Harleen. He was still in his suit, and they were preparing her for surgery. She had shaken off the initial anesthesia and the new dose hadn't kicked in yet. She would be in unbearable agony every second she was awake. An unexpected feeling struck him in the heart like a bullet: Guilt. It didn't make sense... Why should _he_ feel guilty for her pain?! But Gods above, he did. He would have given anything to have traded places with her, for it to be _him_ suffering on that table... Bruce shut his eyes again, feeling tears begin to stream from them. He couldn't bear it anymore, couldn't take one more second of-"

"Hehehehe..." A wicked chuckle known all to well to him caught his attention. He opened his to see a face he hadn't seen in so many years...

"Jason." He whispered. Jason Tod, dressed as 'Robin", was striding through a darkened warehouse to the young woman who bound and gagged a few meters away from him. He looked handsome, confident, powerful... So sure in his youthful invincibility and wearing a cocky smile that said he ruled the world and would live forever to do so. And behind him crept a dark, sinister figure bearing a crowbar and vicious eyes that gleamed with a baleful light.

"Jason!" This time Bruce yelled the name aloud and tried to reach for the boy, but found himself held fast. He looked down to see a pair of pale, cracked hands holding each of his arms. In terror, he glanced frantically to either side and nearly fainted. He was being held back by his own parents, or rather by their fetid corpses.

"You can't save the dead Bruce." They spoke as one, their voices gravelly and oddly soft; as though their throats were packed with dirt from their now empty graves. "You can't save the dead, you can't save the dead youcan'tsavethedead _youcan'tsavethedead!"_

" _Run!"_ Bruce howled at the boy. _"For God's sake run! Leave her and run! Leave me and run!"_

But Jason was def to his cries. Bruce watched in abject horror as the Joker swung his crowbar, bashing the poor boy in the back of the head and sending him sprawling to the floor in front of the now openly weeping man. Bruce could practically feel his heart breaking as he watched the scene unfold, powerless to stop it. Memories flashed through his mind like a million frames from a out-of-control projector: Meeting Jason at the Wayne Foundation orphanage, training him, laughing as they wrestled; casting all their skills aside in the name of fun. Jason's blush when Bruce teased him about girls, staying up all night eating popcorn and watching old horror flicks, or his cry of triumph when he beat Bruce at video games; even though this was the usual result of their matches. The night Jason had confided in Bruce that he'd finally made it to home-base with his girlfriend and their conversation about whether or not they might get married; and how Bruce had advised that they try attending college together to test adulthood as a couple.

"You know, I'm thinking that your head must be _totally empty_ to have missed me!" The Joker gloated over the fallen young man. "Let's see, _shall we?"_ With that the cackling devil brought the bar down again on Jason's head, cracking his skull and denting his head. Blood poured from the wound, along with the sticky yellow of his cranial fluid. Jason looked upwards, his once handsome face gruesomely distorted. One eye bulged horrifyingly in its socket, while his good eye pleaded for a rescue that would never come.

"Bruce..." He groaned in mortal agony, reaching out with a single hand. "Dad..." Down came the crowbar, shattering the back of his skull and splattering Bruce with the blood and brains of the boy he had raised as his own child.

" _Nooo!"_ Bruce screamed in vain as Jason died before his eyes. But still the hellish assault continued, the bar smashing down again and again, until nothing was left of his precious, beloved son's head but the unrecognizable pile of gore he had later found strewn next to his headless body. _"Gaaaaahhhh!"_ Bruce shrieked until he could feel his throat tearing and his mind cracking beneath the strain of a horror and grief to great for words. Unable to scream anymore, he babbled and sobbed incoherently, casting his thoughts about as he pleaded for someone, _anyone,_ to save him...

 _"Shhhh._ It's OK. It's gonna be fine. Please don't cry..." That voice... He knew it. Suddenly he felt the pain and fear leave him, replaced by warmth and comfort and something else he couldn't put a word to. It was more profound than safety, deeper than any feeling of protection, greater than simple trust. If he had to put a word to it, he'd have to call it... Peace. He was suddenly aware of the warm, soft feeling of an ample bosom against his cheek as a gentle hand lovingly caressed his hair.

"I know it hurts... He hurt us both." Harleen whispered as she held him close against her heart. "But we'll suhvive. We'll make it though this crap. I'll be here for ya the whole way. It'll be Bruce and Harleen forevah." He could hear her heart beating against his ear, and his spirit soared knowing that it beat for him.

"Yes, she understands." He thought as he reveled in the peace that her words and touch gave him. She could reach him on a level no other woman ever could... They were a perfect match, and he had seen how unconditionally and selflessly she loved. He knew that if there was ever a woman he could love and trust with no fear, it was her...

Bruce felt a sudden pain in his left arm, and a icy feeling spread through his veins. His eyelids fluttered spasmodically as the serum did its work and returned him to reality. Eventually he was able to make out the form of Alfred standing in front of him and gave the man a shaky smile; desperate to conceal the panicked confusion he now felt. As his toxin-induced fantasies collided with his now sober mind he found himself seriously considering suicide-by-weight set; His worn mind barely able to process the shame and confusion he felt at the direction his thoughts had taken.

"Bruce! Bruce, are you alright?" Alfred asked him, snapping his fingers in front of his face.

"I... I don't know." He answered honestly as he rubbed his sore throat.

"Your readings this time were remarkable! The first four minuets were as... Unpleasant as usual. However about fifty seconds from the end your vitals suddenly stabilized! Come and take a look at this!" Bruce dutifully followed the unusually excited old man to the computer, where his biometric readings were recorded on the screen.

"Here we are at the beginning." Alfred said, pointing at the numeric and chemical readings as the associated graphics progressed, displaying the results of his scan. "Here we can see some minor changes in heartbeat, temperature and neurological activity as the toxin begins to take hold... And here, at about twenty-three seconds in: Drastically elevated heart-rate, a release of cortisol and adrenaline along with a massive glucose spike; all signs of a full fight-or-flight response. However, your neurological patterns seem to be more associated with grief..." Alfred smiled sadly at Bruce, his eyes shining with sympathy. "What a nightmarish combination."

"Nightmarish is a good word for it." Bruce readily agreed.

"But see here at the end!" Alfred continued, his voice once more giddy with excitement. "At exactly four-minuets and ten-seconds we see sudden and dramatic shift in brain-activity; with massive releases of dopamine, oxytocin, serotonin and endorphins! You were _happy_... Nay, positively _blissful!_ What were you thinking about?!"

"I d-don't really remember." Bruce stammered, the lie sounding pathetic even to him. The look on his butler's face said that he _clearly_ wasn't the only one who thought so.

"Well, whatever you did, whatever you thought about, it _broke Crane's hold on you._ All that fear, all that grief, washed away in an _instant!_ Whatever it was, it was enormously powerful... And no doubt rooted deeply in your subconscious." The more of this Bruce heard, the less he liked. The idea of some kind of deep, soul-level attraction to the Joker's ex girlfriend struck him as the stuff of nightmares, or at least several intensive therapy sessions.

"Well, save the readings and we'll evaluate them later." Bruce said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Come on, I need to down my pre-workout swill and get this over with; and my workouts always take a little longer without Tim here to swap out with me."

"You know, _I_ could adjust your weights for you between sets."

"Don't be ridiculous. I won't make you do that." Bruce objected as they walked down the hall. "I may be a bastard, but even I'm not _that_ insensitive."

"You know," Alfred mused aloud. "That was always a matter of some debate."

"Come again?"

"Well you _were_ over a month premature, though you seemed perfectly healthy. A number of people, myself admittedly included, often wondered if you hadn't been present at the wedding; in a manner of speaking." Bruce halted in his tracks right as they crossed into the gym. He had certainly never heard _that_ before.

"Well, thanks for _that_ little bombshell." Bruce wryly retorted as he picked up his -pre-workout drink. He glared distastefully at the vile liquid. Oh well. Through the teeth and over the gums, look out stomach, here it comes...

* * *

"Your woman is still asleep upstairs... You must have really worn her out." Bruce halted as the back door closed behind him and breathed a long-suffering sigh. That sultry voice was one he knew all too well, and once upon a time he would have been overjoyed to hear it; but that time had long since passed.

"Hello Talia." He replied simply, turning from his vehicle to face the woman. She was beautiful as always: Dark hair dancing in the morning breeze, almond-shaped emerald eyes beneath coyly arched brows and a lithe form that exuded a false sense of docility as well as an all-to-accurate air of raw sensuality.

"My condolences on your recent argument however." She continued, ignoring his greeting. "Such disagreements are never pleasant."

"I suppose you would know... In point of fact, you seem rather well informed on the nuances of my personal life."

"It is the duty of a wife to be abreast of such things, wouldn't you agree?" She asked as she reached out and gently caressed his face. He reached up and grabbed her hand, halting her attempts to mollify him.

"You are _not_ my wife." He he growled. Her persistence was oddly flattering, but he knew they could never make it as a couple. Their disagreements ran far too deep for that.

"Tell _that_ to my Father; _he's_ the one who gave me in marriage to you. Not that I disagree mind you, but it's the truth." She retorted sourly.

"Yes, how is the old man?" Bruce asked dismissively, already beginning to turn away from what he considered a pointless discussion. Debates with his stalker usually were.

"Dying." She stated bluntly. Bruce froze in his tracks. Now _that_ got his attention.

"What do you mean?"

"Three days ago, my father entered the Lazarus Pit... And emerged unchanged. He has reached the limit of what the Pits can do for him. He gives himself a year to live... Perhaps less." Bruce carefully evaluated the young woman before him: Her posture, her tone, the structure of her words and the minuscule detail of her facial expressions. She didn't _seem_ to be lying, but she had successfully deceived him before. He would have to be cautious; and opted for calling her bluff.

"Well you should be happy then. After all, with Ra's dead and gone I'll have to-"

" _Enough!"_ She shouted, tears springing to her eyes. This was certainly new; he had never seen her _cry_ before, not even when they broke up. "You may view the love he and I share as cold, but my grief is real! He's my _father,_ and I love him with all my heart... And surely you of all people can understand what it is to lose a parent. To become an orphan."

"Talia, I'm so sorry." He reached out to embrace her, but she raised her hand to hold him at bay.

"Wait. I must finish my message while I can." She took a deep breath, then plunged on. "Confronting his own mortality thus has humbled The Demon's Head. He has realized that he can no longer afford to wait for you to come around to his views. So he asked me to deliver this message to you." She handed Bruce a scroll, which he unrolled and began to read.

"Detective:"

"If you are reading this, then you already know that I am dying. For five-hundred years I have fought for the future of our species, for a world without war or greed or bloodshed. For a world unified under a single, benevolent government. But it seems that no one can cheat death forever, not even I.

"So now, as the grave calls me to whatever judgment awaits men such as us, I send you these words from the hands I love above all others. I know you fight for the cause, that your heart beats with the same virtue and courage as mine. And though we have had our differences and still do, I know that no one can lead the League like you can. I ask you not as a leader, or an enemy or even as a man who would have called you son: Take care of them. Lead them, guide them. Without a head, the League will perish... And perhaps my dream of a New World Order will die with me regardless. It seems that the dreams are yours now. Dream for us, _live_ for us, and carry mankind into the brightest future you can imagine."

"I do not expect a reply, for you must consider my words; and there is life in me still as of now. But I hope that you will reach your decision soon. Please, take my name, bear my burden and my light. I give you my world, give you all that I am... Bruce."

"~Ra's Al Ghul"

"And as to my daughter... I ask that you love her the best that you can. Lover or friend, watch over her as I have. Let her find shelter in your shadow, comfort in your embrace and trust in your heart."

Bruce lowered the letter in awe. If this were all true, and he was fairly sure that it was, Ra's had truly been brought low to take such a meek tone with him. He looked at Talia, and saw that she was now openly weeping. A sudden realization struck him as he watched the tears roll down her cheeks: He stood on the precipice of a storm that would change his world forever. While there wasn't a single event to which he could point for this belief, he somehow understood it from the bottom of his soul. His confused feelings from this morning and the shifting alliances they had already resulted in, the end of his time as Gotham's Knight, his coming political career, his crusade to end the villains of this city and now the fate of the League of Assassins... He breathed deeply, choosing his words carefully.

"I see... I thank you for bringing me this. My answer remains the same; and it seems that your father has already accepted that."

"So you still refuse to lead us?" She snapped. "You will abandon us?"

"I have never refused to lead the League of Assassins. I will accept; but conditionally." He replied with quiet conviction.

 _"You would dilute our cause! Pervert my father's dream!"_ She howled hysterically.

"You can't _force_ people to be moral Talia! It's _never_ worked, and it _never will!"_ He shouted back at her before calming himself. An argument now would serve no one and accomplish nothing. He rubbed his eyes in exasperation, then softened his tone. "This is neither the time, nor the place for this argument; nor is this a decision to be made in haste. Let your father know that I shall... Consider his request. And that I promise to visit him in person before the end."

"I will do this." She said with a nod. Suddenly a dam seemed to burst and her weeping lost its silence. She covered her face in her hands and began to sob loudly. He reached out and embraced her, an embrace that she returned with a low cry.

"B-Bruce, I'm afraid! Call me a fool if you must, but I cannot bear the thought of losing him! He's always been there for me and n-now h-h-he's-"

"Shhh... You're not a fool Talia." He comforted her, tenderly rocking her back and forth in his arms. "You were wrong though, I don't understand; I can't. I lost my parents so suddenly that it didn't seem real. To have to watch them go slowly, to be helpless to stop it... I can't even imagine. But I promise that no matter what I decide about succeeding your Father, I'll be there for you; I swear it." She nuzzled into his chest, her tears beginning to subside. They stood there for a long minuet, undisturbed by the world about them and unaware of the eyes that watched them from the window above.

"Someday, you will be mine My Love." She whispered as she finally parted from him. "Only a woman with a heart of gold and a will of iron could be your match, and there are none in all the world who can match me in that. Certainly not the _girl_ who now warms your bed." Bruce smiled and even chuckled a little at her words. Some things never changed, and Talia Al Ghul was most definitely one of those things.

"We'll see where fate takes us from here. I haven't given up yet." She smiled and nodded, then turned away and left him to his day. He sighed as he watched her go, a dull ache throbbing in his chest. Even if they could never again be what they once had been, a part of him would always love that girl as long as he lived. He heaved another forlorn sigh, then headed straight for the locked room that adjoined the motor-court. He had an appointment to keep, and it wasn't one that he cold make as Bruce Wayne.

* * *

"Jessica's a hairy gonad!" a young boy by the name of Kevin yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing in the hospital lobby. Bruce had watched and listened enough to know his name, that he was ten years old and an extremely bright young man with a keen interest in biology. He seemed to normally be the quiet type; though he was clearly not without a mischievous streak, one that a beautiful young woman of questionable maturity and highly suspect sanity had just exploited. Bruce looked up from his cellphone and smirked slightly as the boy's mother charged after him like a bat out of hell. He was clearly in trouble, but had evidently decided for whatever reason that it was worth it. And that insult... He chuckled. It had been a long time since he had heard _anyone_ called a "gonad." Kid got points for a creative vocabulary too.

Harleen and Pamela rushed out in the ensuing chaos, neatly dodging the attentions of the attendant on duty. They were both giggling like a couple of convent novices who had just managed to sneak in a bottle of tequila. Harleen in particular looked happier than he had seen her in a long while, radiantly beautiful in her glee...

Bruce closed his eyes in a gesture that was almost a wince. He shouldn't have come today, not after that shameful episode this morning. However, the horrible visions of Crane's fear toxin had reinforced the necessity warning Tim about the potential threats of his mission that rose above and beyond the norm. And there he was, opposite the lobby and facing out the window with Stephanie by his side, both of them dressed in motorcycle leathers. The fact that they hadn't recognized him was gratifying testament that his skills with disguise remained untarnished by the years.

As he watched them, he noted with some surprise how low-cut the corset that Stephanie wore was. Not that this would normally be worth noting, but he hadn't seen her show much cleavage since-

Bruce grimaced again, remembering the screams that had reverberated in his mind this morning. The very second memory he had visited had been of her. After Barbara had been crippled, she had taken on the mantle of Batgirl; only to be burned by Garfield Lynns, a.k.a "Firefly", a few months in. She had recovered and returned to action, but had still been horribly scarred by the event. Even from across the room he could detect the spiderweb of scars that reached up to her collarbone; scars that he knew reached down over her left breast and covered nearly a quarter of her body. At least she hadn't lost any functionality, unlike her lover...

Tim turned briefly to the room around him, and Bruce felt a sickening pang of guilt. His face was handsome to the point of being beautiful, but for a single scar that stretched from the bridge of his nose to his right temple and across the milky-white of his ruined right eye. It had been Jervis Tetch who had cut his eye out; and even now Bruce could hear the panicked words he had repeated over and over again.

"I can't see. I-I can't s-see!" He had muttered as he fought the urge to give in to shock and pass out. Bruce had told him all the traditional lies: That it would be alright, that they'd patch him up good as new. But one gimps of the oozing wreck in his eye-socket told him that Tim would never see out of that eye again. It had taken him some time to grow used to the change in his vision and the impairment of his depth perception, but Tim had trained himself consistently until he was every bit as dangerous with once eye as he had been with two.

"Going to call it in?" The blonde girl asked, her voice barely audible from across the lobby.

"I think it's about time, yeah." Tim replied before pressing on his earpiece. "The cuckoo had left the nest, I repeat, the cuckoo has left the nest."

"So I noticed. Meet me outside by the large oak." Bruce whispered into his phone. He waited patiently as the couple shuffled outside, then followed.

"Holy _shit!"_ Tim swore with a laugh as Bruce approached them beneath the emerald boughs. "I totally didn't recognize you!"

"That was the idea." He said with a smile and a failed attempt to completely erase the smugness from his voice.

"Jesus, you _totally_ look black; even your _bone structure_ looks different! Amazing!" Stephanie exclaimed in wonder.

"Thank you." He replied, nodding politely. "Ms. Brown, always a pleasure. And may I say you look especially lovely today." He said, taking her hand and bending to kiss it like a nobleman from a bygone era.

"Such a gentleman..." She murmured archly, looking over at her boyfriend. "You're taking notes, right?"

"Hey now, quit moving in on my girl!" Tim joked, making flippant shooing motions at his mentor. They shared a brief laugh before Bruce brought up something that had been nagging at him for the last few minuets.

"The Cuckoo'? Seriously?"

"Well, she _is_ isn't she?" Tim replied with a vicious grin. Bruce felt a sudden and surprising twinge of irritation.

"From what I have seen she's made a phenomenal recovery thus far; both physically as well as psychologically." Bruce stated in a defensive tone. It was true though, he had spoken to her therapists a number of times as well as tracked her progress with his own eyes, and she had healed with remarkable swiftness and displayed a lightness of spirit throughout the process that made her rehabilitation seem almost effortless. Tim threw his head back and laughed heartily at his mentor's reply.

"Of course, I'd expect nothing less from her number-one stalker!"

"I am _not_ stalking her!" He snapped angerly, shocking everyone present; including himself. "She is a high-risk informant and must be considered to be in danger until such a time as the Joker is apprehended!"

"Alright, I know! Sorry; it was just a joke. Honest."

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry Tim, you didn't deserve that. I've just had a... Rough morning." Of course neither of them needed to know that said rough morning had involved events that made his casual jest strike far closer to home that he cared to admit. And besides, how many times had he found himself questioning his own motives? How many times had he needed to reassure himself that he was watching over her for her safety and not to see her smile, hear her laugh or see how angelic she looked as she slept... To his supreme annoyance, he felt his heart skip a beat at the memory and felt himself getting hot around the ears. Clearly this was an issue he'd have to address, but there was no way in _hell_ that he'd talk to Tim about it... Or Alfred or Dick or any of them. He'd honestly rather chew glass.

"It's alright, I get it." Tim reassured him.

"No, you really don't; and that's fine because I don't want you to." Tim stared quizzically at Bruce's reply, but he didn't elaborate. "I came here to warn you to be careful, and I want you to look me in the eyes when I say it. I know you're hoping to tangle with the Joker, but don't get cocky."

"Don't worry so much, I'm not exactly new to this." Tim objected, looking slightly offended.

"Besides, I doubt he'll even show." Stephanie added. "No one has seen the Joker in months."

"Exactly, and I'm not shamed to admit that it scares the hell out of me." Bruce told his protege, who now looked thoroughly taken aback. "I haven't ever told you two much about this but... The man you know as the Joker wasn't always the grinning maniac you've seen. He used to be far different... Cold, calculating and driven. In fact, when I first met him as the Joker I didn't even recognize him. The Joker is a danger to anyone in arm's, or bullet's, reach. But he's little more than a rabid animal, snapping and clawing at everyone nearby. The man he was before was a problem on a _much_ larger scale. If his absence is a sign of a return to his former self to _any_ degree, then you'll be in infinitely more danger than you otherwise be."

"I... understand." Tim replied with a grim nod, a gesture that Stephanie seconded. "We'll be careful."

"Good. If you see him, kill him. Show no mercy, because you'll receive none. Now I have to go, but I'll meet you later to discuss surveillance data regarding the disappearances and terrorist cells. Take care."

"You know..." Tim called out as Bruce turned and walked away, after a quick scan of the area to ensure that no one else was in earshot. "I've got to say, it's been a long time since I saw you personally drive anything but the Batmobile."

"Armored Pursuit and Capture Vehicle." Bruce grumbled through gritted teeth. He knew Tim was just doing it to get a rise out of him and he shouldn't take the bait but _Goddamn that stupid name..._

"Batmobile." The boy repeated with a mischievous grin.

"Get out of here!" Bruce growled with an irate wave of his arm. Tim laughed and walked away with Stephanie in tow. If he lived to be a thousand, he'd never understand how he managed to surround himself with so many smartasses. Anyway, it was time to return home. He had an appointment for noon and a flight afterwards, and he could afford to miss neither.

On his way back to Wayne manor, he received a text message from Ms. Isley. "I gave it to her." it read.

"Good. Did she like it?" He had replied, but had received no response; though that was expected. Still, at least she had done as he had asked. The bracelet he had given Harleen through Ms. Isley contained a tracking chip in one of the charms; and while this wasn't particularly useful at the present moment, it could potentially save her life if she was abducted after being released from the hospital. Of course, he hadn't told Isley that there was a chip in the bracelet; but she was easily intelligent enough to ascertain this on her own. What he doubted she realized was that he also genuinely hoped she liked the gift, even if she never knew it came from him and not her. Oh well. As long as it brought a smile to her face, that was enough for him.

This uncharacteristic thought lead him right back to the events of this morning and quickly dispelled the beginnings of what could have been a good mood.

"What in the _actual fuck is wrong with me?!"_ He wondered aloud as he fought his way through traffic. He had a girlfriend, and he was determined to make their relationship work! Harleen was a recovering maniac, the Joker's ex-girlfriend and someone who had tried to murder him on numerous occasions! He'd have to be completely insane to even _consider_ a relationship with her!

And yet... As much as he hated to admit it, Alfred was correct in stating that his feelings must have come from deep in his subconscious in order to have freed him from the toxin's effects. And to be perfectly honest, it wasn't all that difficult to imagine how such feelings could develop; even _without_ accounting for her exceptional beauty. He'd seen her dauntless determination as she recovered, heard about her kindness towards the other patients, even going so far as to walk extra laps to encourage those who fell behind.

He'd seen her virtually unshakable devotion to those she loved, and watched how she freely shared her affections in a way that was almost childlike in its innocence. He remembered one occasion in particular; the first time she had managed to complete a lap around the beginner's circuit. How she had laughed and thrown her arms around her therapist in joyful abandon before kissing her on the cheek. To call it charming would be a disservice to how deeply the sight had touched him. Did he really feel so starved for genuine female affection that such a simple gesture had affected him so greatly? After all, his and Caitlin's relationship was certainly not lacking in affection; especially the physical variety. Primarily the physical variety. Only the physical variety...

" _Gah!"_ Bruce cried out in frustration, slamming his head into the steering wheel and leaving a pale, crescent arch in the makeup on his forehead. It wasn't true that their love was only skin deep, it _couldn't be;_ despite the fact that some part of him, on _some level_ apparently wanted to throttle her. It had to be the gas. It was the gas; the stuff was designed to make people crazy and it _fucking worked!_

"That does it." He thought as he pulled onto his estate through the concealed rear gate. "I'm done with that bloody gas. I simply cannot afford the risk to my relationships and psychological well-being. Especially with everything else on my plate right now..."

He sighed morosely, turning into the motor-court on auto-pilot. One thing was for certain, he'd have no shortage of things to discuss at this afternoon's conference.

* * *

"Mr. Wayne, you're finally here!" His secretary, a mousy little brunette named Deirdra exclaimed; rushing to greet him and catching her heavy, coke-bottle glasses as they slid to the end of her nose and forcing them back up.

"Finally? I thought I was almost and hour early."

"You are but..." She lowered her voice. "...He arrived almost twenty minuets ago." She explained with a gesture towards the luxurious waiting room to the side. A quick glance through the one-way window confirmed what he suspected and explained without a word why she seemed even more nervous than usual: The room's sole occupant was none other than Roman Sionis, easily one of the most evil and dangerous men in Gotham. His early arrival indicated the value he placed on this meeting; though he hadn't brought any guards, which clearly indicated that he didn't view Bruce as any kind of a real threat. Whether that would play a positive or negative role in their negotiations remained to be seen; but it would certainly factor in.

"I see..." Bruce muttered. "I'll deal with him momentarily. Is there anything else going on?"

"God yes..." She ejaculated, her eyes widening in horror when she realized what she'd done. "I'm sorry, that wasn't very professional." Bruce laughed and tussled her hair playfully.

"It's OK kid, I know I over-work you. But I swear that you're getting a raise next quarter _and_ an assistant to lighten the load."

"Really?" She said hopefully.

"Cross my heart. I've even got a few candidates in mind already." He replied with a smile. The truth was that he only had _one_ candidate, and he'd already decided on her months ago; but Little Deirdra didn't need to know that. "I don't have time today, but what's on the docket?"

"Well," She began as she fiddled with her iPad, bringing up the applicable files. "Mr. Fox needs to speak with you ASAP about a revision of the Takahara merger, Ms. Vale and Mrs. Kent both sent a message saying that their respective agencies would like to have you on for an interview regarding your campaign, the NRA and NAGR have _both_ been pushing for a statement regarding your plans to tackle gun-control laws, and this note was on your desk this morning. Something about campaign speeches?" She seemed oddly uncomfortable as she pulled out a small slip of paper. Bruce grabbed the sticky note from her and read it.

"Bruce,"

"Things going well with the new buyers, should have solid info soon. But the general atmosphere down here is tense. Check the NYT; word about rich-boy power-grab, anti-working class. All bullshit, I know. Make a few appearances soon to calm people down. Will get word out for you on my level."

"B."

"P.S: Saw a picture of your secretary on the desk. She's cute. Is she single?"

Bruce snorted with laughter and crumpled the note before tossing it in the bin. "Don't worry about him, he's... Mostly harmless."

"Who was it?

"Long story. Can you pull up the New York Times for me really quick?" He asked, steering her and her insatiable curiosity away from his brother." I'd like to see what he was talking about." As she went to the website, he pulled out his burn-phone, the third in two months, and sent a message to Bane.

"Meet me tomorrow, usual time and place. Want to discuss best locations to appear first, as well as other recent events. Been an eventful couple of days."

"Also, she is single... And 5 foot, weighs 90lbs in a wet trench-coat. You'd kill her."

"Here it is." She said as she handed him the iPad, her voice indicating that it wasn't pretty. She was right.

"Another Alt-Right Billionaire's Power-Grab: How Bruce Wayne As Governor Would Destroy the Poor." Bruce face-palmed in response. He'd read the article later, but he doubted it would sound any better the more he read. He was also quite sure that this was payback for his refusal to do an interview with them, as they had taken a fairly neutral tone with his campaign thus far. But if they had an issue with his disinclination to speak with them, they needed to look into the mirror. After all, it wasn't _his_ fault that most people considered the paper to be barely more than a gossip rag these days.

"Alt-right huh?" He muttered with a derisive snort. "That's fascinating; last week they were calling me a 'Classic Liberal'. Whatever; at least they aren't calling me a clansman or anything like that."

"Yet." His secretary said pointedly as she retrieved her iPad. Bruce chuckled and nodded.

"Yet." He agreed. "Please wait for two minuets, then send Mr. Sionis in. And please make sure that we have some tea in there, preferably Chai." She nodded, looking nervous again. "Don't worry, I won't let him hurt you."

"Got it." She whispered. He turned away and entered his office, taking his place in the supple, burgundy-leather chair that sat behind his opulent cherry-wood desk. Though he didn't come in often, preferring to leave the day-to-day business to Lucius, he still tried to put in several hours a week; as well as working to ensure that employee morale remained high. Desk work really wasn't his thing, and frankly neither were public relations. But he often viewed the people who worked in Wayne Tower as a sort of extended family, and caring for his family was certainly something he could do.

" _Especially_ Little Deirdra." He mused with a smile. She'd only worked for him for two years, but had already shown herself to be amazingly competent, not to mention being cute as a button. The guy who finally managed to break through the wall of nervous silence she threw up for most folks and win her over would be a lucky man indeed. His phone vibrated, no doubt a reply from Bane. "Damn." Was all it said. He laughed softly as a gentle chiming noise caught his attention, signaling that his two minuets were up.

"He's on his way. So is the tea."

"Thank you." He replied simply, releasing the paging button seconds before the door opened and Roman Sionis entered. The man was the dictionary definition of tall, dark and handsome; but his eyes and smile were both cold as ice. A more insensitive person might have failed to notice the sinister air that he gave off, but anyone who _did_ notice would either be cowed or repulsed. In Bruce's case, it was the latter.

While they had never met face-to-face, they had crossed paths many times as Batman and Black Mask. In many ways, these meetings were far more honest than this one would be, as both of them were their truest selves when hidden behind a mask; One being Gotham's Crusader and the other a ruthless warlord who reveled in the pain he inflicted on others. But it wouldn't do to give any indication of that impression here. Bruce arose and extended his hand to his enemy, a false but highly believable smile plastered on his face.

"Mr. Sionis! Bruce Wayne, I'm glad that you could make it in today." He said, shaking the snake's hand with a warmth that was entirely feigned.

"Thank you for making the time for me." He responded with a smile and shake that were slightly less believable than Bruce's. As they took their seats, Deirdra entered with a small platter containing an elegant Persian-style tea set. She quietly placed the tray on the table between them and stepped back, looking not-unlike a frightened fawn preparing to flee for its life. She was no fool, and obviously had seen right through Sionis' fine clothes and smooth smile; and was just as obviously terrified by what she saw.

"Thank you Ms. McInnis, you may leave us." She nodded and rushed out as hastily as she possibly could without making a scene. With her gone, Bruce turned his attention back to his guest.

"So, what brings you here today? You mentioned it had something to do with my bid for Governor?"

"Indeed, and I would first like to wish you the best of luck in your campaign." The man replied with yet another bone-chilling smile. "I can't remember the last time a Gothamite ran the state, and I'm willing to admit to more than a little in-house preference. Say what they will up north, but no city exemplifies the great state of New Jersey half as well as Gotham; both in its virtues _and_ its vices."

"I couldn't agree more. Tea?" Bruce asked, raising his cup. "It's chai. A bit of a change of pace from the more traditional coffee, but I became rather addicted to the stuff during a vacation to Nepal."

"No thank-you." Sionis declined with a polite gesture. Bruce nodded and sipped his own tea, barely noticing the rich flavor as he evaluated the man across from him. This refusal, though minor on the surface, set the tone for whatever discussion would follow. Sionis was here to get his way, not to negotiate; and by drinking his own without regard to his guest, Bruce indicated that he would be maintaining the upper-hand that the location of their discussion provided him and would not easily cave to pressure. The air subtly thickened around them, each aware of the others unwillingness to bend.

"While I am naturally excited about the implications of your candidacy, "Sionis continued "I was somewhat concerned by a few points on your stated platform, as well as a couple of talking points from last week's speech, hence my visit. And by concerned, I mean from a strictly professional angle as a businessman."

"Of course." Bruce agreed, barely containing the temptation to snort in disgust. The Sionis family hadn't been legitimate businessmen for at least two generations, but keeping up the pretense clearly still mattered to the current head of the household. "By all means, let me know what your concerns are and hopefully I can lay them to rest."

"As I'm sure you are aware, Sionis Industries has evolved over time from a production company to one specializing in Personnel Placement as well as Foreign Imports. I'm concerned that a combination of deregulation on some aspects in concert with an increase in the regulation of others might adversely effect my company. I'm sure you can understand." This time the impulse Bruce had to control was the urge to laugh in the man's face. So that was how he classified massive dealings in illicit drugs and being the primary supplier of muscle for Gotham's most blood-soaked clientele? _Imports and Personnel Placement?!_ Very well, he could play the semantics game too.

"Well, as to the imports issue, you needn't worry." Bruce told him with a winning smile. "Assuming I'm able to implement any of the changes I want to, the cost of imports _and_ exports will be drastically reduced. I'm all too aware of how important the sea and its bounties are to the state's economy; and I believe that promoting a healthy economy will benefit everyone in the long run."

"Indeed, though the possible adverse effects of a sudden reduction in the... Price of available goods cannot be understated." Sionis countered. "In fact, I've heard rumors of plans by the Falcone family to expand into import marketing as well; or perhaps I should say to a previously unheard of level."

"While I'm certainly flattered in their estimation of my chances, the Falcones are smart people. I'm sure they are just hedging their bets. That said..." He continued after taking another sip of tea. "I can certainly see how the prospect of such competition from another illustrious family could be daunting. We'll just have to raid the wave together and see who sinks and who swims. The free, and legal market will decide." Sionis nodded harshly, his smile gone and a muscle in his cheek twitching spasmatically in anger. The implication, that Bruce had no intention of backing down on the legalization of recreational drugs, was clearly not lost on him. Unless he wanted to compete in the free market, and he _clearly_ did not, he'd lose his market almost overnight. Religious conservatives and drug dealers, ironically enough, both wanted the same thing; though for totally opposite reasons: A ban on drugs. And Roman Sionis was no exception to this rule.

"As well it should." The angry man concurred, the smile returning to his face; only now it was less of a smile and more the feral grin of an animal about to lunge for your throat. Though it was unlikely, Bruce vaguely wondered if Sionis would dare attack him here, right in the middle of a crowded office floor. He doubted it, though Sionis wasn't exactly the most stable person in Gotham. Hell, he wasn't even the most stable person in the office, and that spoke volumes. "I was wondering what your plans were regarding regulations on hiring, particularly security personnel. Sionis Industries is, after all, the city's number-one supplier of security." Well, that really depended on how one looked at it. They were a major player, but LexCorp was the Gotham's number-one provider of security guards... Assuming you didn't account for thugs, drug-barons, illegal corporate warfare or political assassinations; in which case Sionis Industries won by a landslide.

"Well obviously I'd like to relax restrictions and make hiring easier across the board, even beyond what the federal government has done the last two years. That said, I'd like to see the regulations regarding Security Personnel followed more stringently; especially given the unfortunate death of Mayor Sharp last year. Correct me if I'm wrong, but wasn't it a member of your staff that killed him? Strangled with copper wire in his office as I recall." Sionis' grin widened disturbingly, the exact opposite of how any even remotely moral person would have reacted to having the memory of such an event thrown so casually in their face.

"A third party, contracted through us. We would have dealt with the situation ourselves but, as I'm sure you'll remember, the man failed to escape alive." Bruce watched as the man across from him heaved a theatrical sigh, assuming an air of defeat that Bruce didn't buy for even a second. "Well, you seem very set on your platform. I'll admit to some disappointment, but certainly not enough to stop me from throwing my lot in with 'Gotham's Prince'. I have a rather substantial contribution to your campaign ready to transfer as we speak; it requires only authorization from yourself or Mr. Fox."

Bruce shook his head slowly and began to speak, speaking slowly to emphasize each and every word. "I'm afraid I cannot accept your offer, grateful as I am. You see, in much the same manner as our president, I intend to fund my own run for election. If I were to take contributions from anywhere, it might give the _extremely_ incorrect impression that my platform, and beliefs, are for sale." The smile fled once more from Sionis' face, and his cheek twitched even more noticeably than before.

"I see... Well then, I wish you the best of luck. Transitions from the political norm to a more privatized and business-centered leadership can be difficult, so I hope you'll take care. And," He continued , snatching up the teacup that hand previously languished unused before him. "I believe I will take some of this tea after all. It _does_ smell delicious, and I confess the scent has finally gotten the better of me." They rose to their feet, and Bruce offered his hand. Sionis refused to accept the gesture, returning instead a stiff nod of the head before turning and leaving the office. A small flash of white caught Bruce's eye, turning his gaze to the table. In the exact spot where the teacup had sat was now a small slip of paper adorned with the symbol of a crimson serpent, twisted into a figure-eight and consuming its own tail.

"Ouroboros..." He whispered. Now what in the blazes was this about? Sionis had obviously left it on purpose to send a message, but what? He couldn't ever remember Sionis using such an esoteric symbol; guns and skulls were more his style. He frowned, folding the paper in half and slipping it into his pocket. He'd definitely need to look into this, but now wasn't the time. He still had a few more appointments for the day, and he needed to move. With that in mind he strode from his office, noting that Sionis had already vanished. Dierdra approached him, holding a cup of tea and bearing a look of relief on her face, no doubt in regard to the departure of their "guest".

"Well, from what I heard that went pretty well!" She said with a naively hopeful smile. Bruce ignored her comment and rapidly issued her orders.

"I want a sixty percent increase in security by close of business on Friday and a twenty-four-seven perimeter on the building, including EOD technicians with dogs doing sweeps of the parking lot between every shift. By Thursday morning, a checkpoint on all parking entrances and a strict curfew enforced; no more working late and no excuses or exceptions. Tomorrow I also want a buddy-system implemented; no one goes anywhere alone, _especially you._ I mean it, not even to the restroom. As of this minuet, we are officially at war." The tiny girl had gone pale as a sheet and was attempting to record everything on her iPad while juggling the cup of tea. "By the way, did Sionis give you that?" He asked, indicating the cup.

"Y-yes. He said he didn't want it, but thanked me anyway."

"Go dump it down the sink, it's poisoned." Bruce commanded as he marched away, leaving his dumbstruck secretary behind him. This outcome was expected, but it still angered him. His people would be frightened and confused, but that was still a damn sight better than being dead. Not that it mattered anyway in the long run. Sooner or later, Sionis would give in and don the mask again. He wouldn't be able to resist the call of violence and death forever... And when that happened, when he exposed himself that way again, Bruce would kill the man with his own two hands.

 **Author's Note:** Hello all! I believe this has been the longest chapter I've ever written; and would have been even longer if I had included the full day! For practical reasons I opted to split it into two. And Harleen thought _she_ had an eventful day!


	13. Chapter 13

**Batman: Armistice**

 _ **Chapter Thirteen**_

 **February 18th, 8:36 EUTZ**

The hot, dry air rushed past Clarke's face so quickly that it chilled him to the bone; roaring in his ears as he flew over the hot, barren sands of Syria. Louis had been a little annoyed at his having to leave so late, but she had understood. They had just been getting into bed when he'd received a message, a tip telling him that a massive weapon shipment would be sent _and_ used that day; and it was far too large a shipment to be ignored. Previously he wouldn't have been able to interfere, as the political situation had been far too volatile. But the last two years had given him far more freedom to stop the animals who had preyed for so long upon the people of the region: ISIS, the Taliban and others like them. With the USA and Russia now working together to stop the radicals, he could act almost unilaterally against them.

Still, he was ill at ease. He'd had sources feeding him info about smaller shipments, allowing him to strike decisively against them. But the sheer size of the shipment he was hearing about... The entire country was still largely on lock-down, _there were no shipments_ of that scale outside of UN supply trains delivering supplies for the reconstruction efforts. He could only imagine _one way_ that they could be getting away with such a massive transfer of arms; and if his guess was correct then this whole situation could go sideways faster than you could say "Bad Press". As to _why_ the terrorists would send so many weapons at once, he could only assume that they were getting desperate. With US funding cut off and American forces now turned against them, they had nearly been wiped out by this point in time. The few fighters that remained were of the most radical, most devoted and most dangerous variety.

A sudden sight on the horizon pulled his thoughts back into the present moment. There they were: A long, dark line stretching into the distance like some sort of enormous wyrm; racing across the desert floor and filling the sky with dust and noxious fumes. Clarke altered his course to collide with theirs and shot up into the sky like a rocket, hiding his form in one of the few stretches of clouds that sat scattered about the otherwise clear sky. Intimidation was everything in an encounter like this, and it was possible that a good enough scare could end the situation without a single drop of blood being spilt. He rather doubted it, but it could happen.

He watched the caravan approach for several minuets until he decided that that they had made it close enough, then hurled to the ground before the oncoming truck; impacting like a meteor from the stars. Clarke reached out and seized the vehicle by the hood, crushing the steel under his fingers as the wheels spun uselessly in the dirt as a couple of other vehicles pulled in behind the truck and slightly to either side. After a few seconds the wheels stopped spinning and Clarke released the hood, watching like a hawk as the two men in the truck exited and faced him. Though he kept his expression a carefully crafted mask of anger and disgust, he sighed inwardly at the sight that greeted him. The men were wearing UN uniforms, and their vehicles were marked to match. If these men were not _exactly_ what they seemed, if they had managed to murder the real UN workers and steal their uniforms and supplies, then he could expect a solid week of bad press for stopping them _at a minimum._ It would be reported as an attack on peace keepers, and as Winston Churchill had once so eloquently put it: "A lie gets half way around the world before the truth has a chance to get its pants on". On the Other hand, if they _were_ what they seemed, then he was in for an embarrassing several minuets.

"Mr. Superman, you startled us! What do you want with me and my men?" The apparent leader asked in a thick middle-eastern accent. Clarke was hardly listening however. The more he looked at their uniforms, the more disconcerted he became. Even with his fantastic vision he couldn't detect a hint of damage or wear on the uniforms. In fact both their uniforms _and_ helmets looked brand new... What the hell? Clarke sighed in annoyance. If these people _were_ in fact part of a UN envoy, than this would mark the first time his informant had given him bad info and landed him in such an embarrassing situation.

"I received a tip from a normally reliable source that this convoy was being used to transport weapons to terrorist holdouts. I'm afraid I'll need to check your cargo... Colonel." He finished, noting the apparent rank of the man standing before him. The Colonel, a mid-sized man of obviously middle-eastern decent, nodded his assent and gestured to the transport behind them.

"Of course. Please, take your time." Clarke nodded and approached the large trailer behind the truck, ripping the tarp back and gazing at the contents with a mixture of relief and annoyance. The trailer was filled with seed; clearly part of the joint initiative between the UN and LexCorp. With the recent acquisition of Monsanto via it's agricultural arm "Bayer", LexCorp had wasted no time in pledging over a million tons of seed to the reconstruction effort. Clarke wasn't sure if this was merely a PR stunt on the part of Lex Luthor or if the man actually cared, but either way he knew that Luthor was unlikely to engage with disruptive terrorist types... Unless of course it was in an attempt to kill off someone he saw as a threat to humanity; such as yours truly. Luthor, for all his egotism and madness, genuinely cared about the human race. That, and he was a businessman... And terrorism was almost universally bad for business.

Still... One shouldn't simply accept such things at face value, _especially_ when dealing with the likes of Lex Luthor. He deepened his gaze, altering his sight to see through the relatively mild density of the seeds to search for anything that might be hidden beneath them. After a few seconds of tuning his vision, he stiffened like a plank. There, buried beneath the seed, were objects that looked an awful lot like thermite charges... A veritable shitload of them. He looked sharply to the left and saw that the next trailer was similarly packed, and the next beyond it. It seemed likely at this point that _all_ the trucks were thusly packed. But what chilled him to the bone wasn't the cargo... It was the passengers. Every one that he could see had thermite charges strapped to their bodies beneath their uniforms. He tore his eyes from the trucks back to the Colonel and his man, only to see them pointing their rifles right at him; in spite of the fact that they clearly didn't have any kryptonite with them. If they had, he would have sensed it immediately.

"Oh for God's sake, put those down!" Clarke spat in anger and disgust. The fact that they were expecting him clearly indicated that his informant had either turned traitor or else had been discovered and murdered; and Clarke was betting on the latter. Achmed had been a good man and a true servant of his people, the type that put animals like these to shame. He didn't know how they had gotten their hands on this seed and equipment, but he fully intended to find out and was perfectly happy to start breaking the bones of anyone unwilling to talk.

"Al'Islam hu alhall kafar!" The "Colonel" shouted at him, eliciting a derisive snort from Clarke. "A better world is coming... A pure world! The Serpent will lead the way, and not even a _Jinn_ like you can stop it, for _all the world_ will fear and hate you!"

"I'm not here to debate religion religion with you and I don't give a _damn_ what you think the 'solution' is." Clarke sneered, though he was feeling a little taken aback. 'Jinn?' He thought. That was a new one. "I'm here to shut you down. Now drop the weapons. I won't ask you again."

"You won't have to." The man murmured. A moment later the air was filled with the sounds of automatic fire, though not from the the two men in front of him. A few other soldiers had left their trucks while he'd been distracted and open-fired on him, showering him in what might as well have been spitballs. He turned away, instinctively flinching away from a barrage that would have killed him in his natural state. After several seconds the sound of gunfire died away, and Clarke glared at the men who had so pointlessly assaulted him.

"Are you finished?" He growled in annoyance. They clearly knew who and, more importantly, _what_ he was; and yet had _still_ attacked. Hope springs eternal I suppose...

"Yes, we are." The Colonel stated from behind him. Clarke turned to face the man and saw him holding a small switch in his hand. So that was why they had attacked. Another dis-

Before even he could react, a blinding red light filled his vision and he was bathed in a scorching heat like the fires of hell itself. Even if minor, the pain he felt from _this_ attack was very real. He buckled under the assault, falling to his knees, only to feel relief less than a minuet later. As quickly as they had ignited, the charges were spent. Clarke raised his eyes and took in the scene of horror before him: Of the people and their cargo, only ashes remained; and of the caravan little but glowing slag.

"What the hell... _Why?"_ He whispered as he surveyed the destruction. Did they believe that he also would be killed in the heat along with them? Unlikely. More likely this was intended to frame him, and it didn't take a lot of imagination to guess who might be behind such an atrocity.

"After all" he mused as he rose into the air, viewing the trail of incendiary carnage from above, "It wouldn't be the first time Luthor has murdered bystanders to get at me..."

* * *

Fierce winds and sheeting rain buffeted Bruce's craft as he flew over the stormy northern-Atlantic seas, making him grateful that he was flying the AAV (or the "Batwing" if Tim were to have his way with the name) as apposed to the Phoenix... Not that he would have brought the Phoenix for this trip anyway. It was well known as belonging to Bruce Wayne, and Bruce Wayne had no business in the Queen Elizabeth Islands; out at the frigged edges of humanity. On the other hand, this was a trip that Batman made often.

A sudden pinging noise grabbed his attention, and he answered the call with a small thrill of excitement, only to frown in annoyance when he realized that it wasn't from Caitlin. He had attempted to call her twice, but to no avail. In fact, the second time she had noticeably hung up on him. He couldn't imagine why she was upset with him, and it seemed like no answer would be forthcoming today.

"You are approaching restricted airspace, state your identification." Came the heavily disguised voice over his speakers... His own voice actually. He had recorded the warning years ago, and everyone in the Justice league had a code to give in response; a code containing both a consistent "call-sign" as well as a numerical key that was randomized every month via the Tower's internal systems. Everyone had to collect their new code at the end of every meeting and repeat it in order to gain entry to the next. . Failing to do so would result in on of two possible outcomes: Most likely, the Tower's automatic systems would shield it to anything but the naked eye; and anyone who saw it but didn't know what exactly it was that they were seeing would believe it to be nothing more than an especially large lighthouse. However, if any aggression were initiated, the Tower's weapons would activate; and anything short of a God would be annihilated.

"Code 67992A-BV. Designation: Gotham Knight."

"Identification accepted. You may approach." Bruce grunted in response. It was a fairly cumbersome system, but it has successfully protected them from infiltration for years; making it well worth the trouble.

Bruce angled sharply downward before jerking back on the controls and pulling parallel to the dark and riotous sea, relishing the thrilling sensation in the pit of his stomach followed by the force of the maneuver pressing him back into his seat. No matter how many times he executed such a dive, it never got old.

He sped towards the jagged outcropping which rose before him like some kind of evil tower from a fairytale; crowned by a massive, ivory lighthouse. The tower lighthouse was actually functional and could be entered via either the main building or a narrow door at the back which led up to the light at the summit. Anyone who happened across it (even though this had yet to occur) would believe it to be a solid structure pierced by the singular stairway located at the rear of the structure. But it was the rest of the hidden interior, as well as what lay within the jutting earth, where the real work happened; where decisions were made that had altered the course of human history on more than one occasion...

As he neared his destination a seemingly solid wall of stone right at sea-level opened up, revealing the well-lit dock and landing pad within. Bruce guided his craft unerringly into gaping maw which quickly shut behind him, sealing him within the confines of the Tower; the fortress of the Justice League. The AAV's turbines hummed loudly in contrast as he cut the propulsion engines and settled gently on the alabaster floor, switching them off as well the moment he landed. He popped the cockpit and exited his vehicle before the turbines had even stopped. His stubborn pride aside, he had to admit that he craved the council of his friends regarding today's events; and of one in particular... Though what he had to say to her would have to be said apart from the others. Truth be told he didn't even like the idea of broaching the idea to her; but she was the closet thing that he had to a living mother and could, if her capricious moods permitted, offer valuable insight.

After a few strides Bruce reached a pair of gleaming steel doors. The one on the left continued deeper into this level, linking to rooms that primarily consisted of armories and supply storage. He selected the one on the right however, entering the elevator which led to three stories above and another seven below. The meeting room however was at the top, and that's where he was headed. The Justice League awaited...

* * *

"Captain's on deck!" Barry declared, rapping his knuckles enthusiastically on the large round table and signaling the others to join him. Bruce surveyed the room with a wry, lopsided smile; noting as he did that he appeared to be the last one in today. The rapping tradition, as well as the melodramatic introduction had both been introduced early on by Barry and had eventually caught on with the rest of the Justice League. As annoying as it had been at first, Bruce had eventually grown fond of the ritual and on more than one occasion had found himself almost looking forward to it. Barry had been among the first and most enthusiastic to join the League; doing so both to find allies against some rather unscrupulous people he had managed to anger and... Well, just to have the friends that he clearly lacked outside the digital world. Barry Allen might be an eternal child, but his ebullient nature was positively infectious, and Bruce had to admit that this was likely for the best. Without him and Diana to offset the rest of them, the council likely would have descended into a murky bog of perpetual brooding years ago.

Bruce raised his right arm to a square with his hand firmly clenched, signaling an end to the fracas before taking his seat at the glossy, ebony-toned table. While there was no head to the table, Bruce personally felt that he had the best seat in the room. From his view he could take in the entire panoramic view from the screens that stretched across half circular room and doubled as windows onto the sea when not otherwise in use, courtesy of a number of external camera feeds.

"Welcome all." He spoke in his modulated voice. Though unnecessary, they had agreed long ago that their meetings would be held in disguise as this helped to keep them on task; often a difficult undertaking among such close friends who so often felt like outsiders to the rest of the world. It was a price they had all understood and readily paid, but it still troubled them all every so often. "I see that we're all here so let's get down to business. If there are no objections I'll be delivering my report last. I'll need some input and that will segue nicely into the discussion portion, if not completely dominate it... We all have our own projects though; so would anyone else care to go first?"

"Ooh! Ooh! Him! Pick him!" Barry announced, snapping and pointing his fingers annoyingly at the stoic Victor Stone. Bruce wasn't sure if Victor had always been so even keeled, but his personality made him the perfect counter-balance to Barry's erratic behavior and had resulted in them forming an unlikely duo on a number of occasions. That said, every so often (now for instance) Bruce strongly suspected that Vic would like noting more in the moment than to grab the "Flash" and break every one of his limbs. Bruce rolled his eyes in response and moved on.

"Clarke?" The man shook his head in response.

"No thanks. I assume you saw the news today?"

"Actually, I haven't." Bruce confessed. "It's been a busy day and I must have missed it. I gather it's a cause for concern?"

"If you're going last, I'll take second to last. We'll want to discuss this in detail." He didn't like it, but Bruce nodded his assent; now more than a little curious. Still, he'd try at least one more person before he caved to Barry's unprofessional and incessant yammering.

"Diana?" She shook her head; and Bruce couldn't help but notice that Hal, who was sitting to her right, was gazing in an overly interested manner at the table in front of him. Obviously he wasn't interested either.

"No thank you, I can wait." She refused with a smile infused ever so slightly with mean-spirited snark. She knew _exactly_ what he was doing and was enjoying thwarting his designs. Diana had co-founded the League and had always brought a unique energy to their group. About one-quarter sultry vixen, one-quarter bloodthirsty warmonger and half elderly matron; her youthful appearance belied her ancient and alien soul. She presided as a sort of "den-mother" for lack of a better term; and as much as they all loved her, none of them doubted that they would never be able to understand the three-thousand year old woman. In fact they had initially been put off by her relative lack of involvement once the League had been fully formed. They had come to understand in time that when you're over three-millenna old, little beyond the imminent end of the world can convince you to give a damn.

"Victor." Bruce finally gave in with a sigh. "As the League's only minority member, you've taken it upon yourself to deal with the race-riots in America, Canada and England. Do you have anything to report?"

"The situation is volatile, but under control for the moment." He declared in his usual, unemotional tone. "Things have been tense since the Rexson shooting; but property damage has been kept to a minimum as have injuries. The BLM has largely fallen apart due to lack of funding and interest given the infusion of jobs into minority communities in America. Unfortunately this means that the remaining members are by far the most radical ones; so dealing with them has been... Difficult." He concluded with an uncharacteristic pause.

"Oh-ho-ho boy! That's one way to put it! I've got this shit on video... Mind if I put it on-screen?" Barry asked his friend.

"Can I stop you?" Victor asked, an edge of irritation creeping into his voice.

"Nope!" Barry glibly shot back before bringing up the halo-screen at his seat and taking a few quick swipes at it. The screen behind him ceased to display the outside world and instead played what appeared to be footage from a cellphone camera. There was Victor Stone facing a rabid and racially diverse mob, many of whom were holding signs that bore a number of traditional BLM slogans.

"I just wan' everyone to calm down. This ain't helpin' no one." He said, his arms raised in a peaceful gesture and his speech a throwback to his days as a regular kid from New York.

"Fuckn' Coon!" A young black protester shouted in his face, spittle flying from his enraged lips and spraying onto the peaceful behemoth in front of him. "Fuckn' Uncle Tom piece 'o shit Race-Traitor Coon! Go fuckn' kill yourself you fucked up freak!" Barry paused the video and turned his attention back to the room.

"Wow... Just _wow."_ Barry exclaimed; and Bruce had to agree. The man had to have been either suicidal or mentally retarded to have dared such behavior. "One of these guys had _balls of steel_... And the other is a Cyborg! Seriously, I'm ten times faster than you'll ever be and _I'd_ never talk to you that way! Are you the reincarnation of Gandhi or something? How did you not kill that guy?!"

"He was no threat. Besides, it wouldn't have solved anything." Vic replied, his voice taking on a disturbingly hollow tone. Bruce was pretty sure he knew why too. He'd recognized a landmark in the background and placed the protest in New York City... Stone's hometown. While he might not know any of those people, it was his own hometown that was labeling him as worse than an outcast, as an actual _traitor_. The mere thought of receiving such treatment from the common people of Gotham made Bruce feel slightly ill. They say words don't hurt but... _Damn._ And that was only a few seconds; Bruce didn't doubt for a second that there was a _lot_ more where that came from.

"Hey, you and me, we're tight." Barry declared with a friendly smack on Vic's arm. "You want me to look this guy up? His name? Address? Darkest fears and exact geographical location?"

"It's fine."

"I'm serious, standing offer! I will rain fire and brimstone, _motherfucking_ _brimstone_ , on this degenerate little dumpster fire!"

"It's fine." Victor repeated a little more firmly, though Bruce noticed the corner of his mouth curl into a smile. The fact that he alone among all of them couldn't conceal what he was had left Victor's heart raw from years of abuse, and he had eventually crafted an icy and soulless persona to fit his appearance. But beneath it he was an extremely kind and generous man, especially to the disadvantaged of society. Bruce considered himself lucky to have a friend like Victor Stone, and he knew that he and Barry Allen were even closer. Barry had been the first to pierce his guard, and the two had remained fast friends ever since.

"So, on that note... Hal, have you got anything for us?" Bruce asked.

"Nope. I'm happy to declare that we were one-hundred percent free of intergalactic threats this month." He declared with a strongly sardonic overtone. Bruce nodded, relieved. This was by far the most common response but also one of the most comforting. When Hal Jordan had an emergency announcement, you knew things were about to get _very_ unpleasant indeed.

"Arthur?"

"Just that oil spill. It wasn't a big deal and we got it cleaned up in short order." The great bear of a man stated gruffly. Arthur Curry, the King of Atlantis, was definitely an odd one... Next to Diana he was the most inscrutable of the lot by far; making him in some ways even more alien than Clarke, the _literal_ alien. He was grouchy, brooding and prone to violence more than anyone except Diana; and possessed a sense of humor so low-key that it was almost non-existent. Still, like the rest of them, he had an altruistic stripe a mile wide; hence his presence in the League. Bruce had once heard that the man used to smile a lot more, but that side of him seemed to have died years ago with his son. Arthur was a family man to the core, and the loss of his only child and temporary loss of his wife seemed to have crushed the light from his life. Tragic, but there seemed to be little that his friends could do for him. He seemed determined to walk this path alone, and that was something Bruce could respect; even if he wished otherwise.

"Oh come on Art, are you gonna tell them or should I?" Barry spoke up.

"Goddamnit boy, what did I tell you about calling me that?"

"That you would pull my lungs out my mouth when you caught me... Which will never happen, so I'm not worried." He replied flippantly. "Anyway, returning to the matter at hand..."

Arthur growled irritably before addressing the room again. "I sunk a Japanese whaler last week. Made it look like an accident and dropped the crew off on the shore."

A groan arose from the room while Bruce rubbed his eyes in exasperation. Even if it wasn't a regular occurrence, this wasn't the first time something like this happened and twice previously Bruce had needed to lean rather heavily on a few news outlets to prevent his friend from being outed. He supposed that this sort of thing was simply the price one paid for having friends in the political arena, but it was still a royal pain.

Arthur raised his hand to halt the oncoming tide of reprimands from the rest of the room. "Now I know what you're going to say, but this time I had legitimate cause, even by _your_ standards. They were poaching Blues." Though none of then could see it, Bruce's eyebrows shot up at the news. Poaching Blue Whales eh? Now that _was_ legitimate cause; and even if word got out that Arthur was behind the sinking, the Japanese would be more embarrassed than anyone.

"And you're positive no one caught you?" He asked. Arthur nodded.

"Absolutely. And anyway, they may not be in on the IWC, but they never asked Atlantis for permission to hunt in our waters."

"And which ones are those?" Hal inquired facetiously.

" _All of them._ " They all chuckled at his flat retort. Before Bruce could move the conversation along however, Barry raised his hand mockingly and began to speak again.

"Well that was a touching confession and all, but I meant the _other thing._ You know, with you and your wife." Arthur's eyes widened in shock, then he lunged for the loud-mouthed boy at a speed that would have caught even Clarke off guard. Barry, however, was already gone in a flash of lightening. Arthur's hand halted mere inches from Victor's face while Barry appeared on the opposite side of the table.

"Hey!" Bruce barked in an attempt to snap the two out of what might actually devolve into a brawl. While such behavior between those two wasn't uncommon, Arthur actually looked serious this time, and infighting wasn't something Bruce wasn't prepared to tolerate on _any_ level.

"How the _hell_ did you find out about that?!" The enraged man shouted, clearly ignoring Bruce. "I swear, if I find out that you've somehow bugged my home-"

"Your wife told me." Barry shot back across the stunned silence of the room, suddenly deathly serious. "She also told be to force you to say something because she knew you wouldn't on your own."

"I didn't want to _say anything_ because I didn't want to speak too soon!" Arthur snarled. "I didn't want to get anyone's hopes up... Least of all my own."

"She told me you would say that. She also told me to tell you 'YOLO."

"The _hell_ she did!" Barry shrugged at the retort.

"Well, actually she said 'Carpe Diem', but it's the same thing." He glibly replied.

"If you're an idiot."

"Come on Arthur... We're your friends, right? Let us _be_ your friends."

"Would either of you two like to explain yourselves?" Bruce demanded acidly.

Arthur sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. It was several long moments before he raised his head and spoke. "A couple of weeks ago, Mera and I found out that she's... That were having a baby." After a moment of quiet the room erupted into cheers of congratulations. Arthur, held his hand up, quieting the room in what seemed like a general unwillingness to accept the gaiety espoused by his comrades.

"Please, don't get too excited. We've already lost one child, and we've had complications before so-"

"Stop it." Diana snapped. "You didn't have us before." She arose from her seat, marching over to Arthur and wrapping her arms around his neck from behind. "As the most experienced midwife on earth, I promise you that _nothing_ will happen to this child. I won't allow it. Now smile for God's sake! You're going to be a daddy!"

"I-Uh, of course." Arthur said bashfully. "And thank you. I'll tell Mera what you said; I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"That's a good boy." She said, patting his cheek in a matronly gesture that Bruce was fairly sure only she could perform and live to recount. She left the blushing man and returned to her chair with a smirk.

"So... Can I have my chair back?" Barry asked. "Or do you still want to choke-slam me?"

"I always want to do that." Arthur replied curtly. Then he rolled his eyes and smiled. "Get over here." He commanded with a wave of his hand. Barry made his way back to his seat, only to be slapped upside the head the moment he sat down. "Don't just do whatever you're told kid." He told Barry harshly, though his smile negated his serious tone.

"Fine just don't slap your _own_ kid around _'dad'._ " Barry teased, setting off another bout of both laughter and congratulations. Bruce sat silently, watching as Arthur's smile slowly grew until it stretched from ear to ear.

"There he is..." Bruce whispered, his own heart warmed to finally see such pure, unguarded joy on his friend's face. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Diana looking at him with an arched brow and knowing smile, as though she could somehow read his innermost thoughts and knew the relief and joy he felt. And more often than not, she could. He wasn't sure if this was an ability of hers or simply the result of thirty centuries of life experience; but it was this knowing nature of hers more than any other trait that made her the League's mother as much as he was its father.

He allowed the clamor to continue for a a few moments longer before clearing his throat loudly and quieting the din. "Congratulations Arthur. Please give my regards, and blessing, to Mera and your child." He said with a respectful nod.

"I will, and thank you." The grinning father-to-be replied, returning the gesture in kind.

"Now, moving onward... Diana, I believe you've been keeping an ear to the ground in the EU headquarters. What's the word out of Brussels?"

"Panic." She replied bluntly. "It seems like every few weeks brings word of another country preparing ballots to exit the European Union. Britain, Italy Slovakia and Austria have already left; and France is on its way out as well. The union is doomed, crumbling before the disbelieving eyes of the globalists. And without a EU military force, the heads at Brussels know that they are almost entirely helpless to stop its decent."

"Yeah, thank _fuck_ Brexit happened before _that_ nightmare got off the ground! If it had, oh, _there would be blood!"_ Barry chimed in fervently, spinning in his chair as if to emphasize in his own small way the chaos that would have engulfed Europe if Brussels had had an army to bring the various nations to heel. "I bet Soros has spun his way into the earth's core by now!"

"Soros might be gone, but _we_ all know the _real_ leader of the globalist movement..." Hal intoned somberly.

"Ra's Al Ghul." Victor finished the thought in an equally grim tone. "I doubt the League of Assassins will allow this continue unopposed."

"I think they have more pressing concerns just now." Bruce mused aloud. This earned him a few curious looks, but he didn't elaborate. "Was there anything else Diana?"

"Not much." She concluded with a shrug. "Well, beyond the open secret that Juncker has been in contact with radical Islamist cells within Europe. He seems to be hoping that an increase in violence will serve to chain the various nation states together out of fear... Even though it consistently does the opposite. Some people never learn... On a more positive note, I had a marvelous lunch with Ms. Quinzel and Ms. Isley today! They really are such dears, especially Ms. Quinzel!"

" _What?!"_ Bruce ejaculated in shock, and he was gratified to see his reaction mirrored by everyone else in the room.

"Oh, Tim and Stephanie didn't report that?" She coyly inquired, twirling a raven lock in a clearly mocking manner. "That's odd. Almost like someone convinced them not to..."

Bruce drew several deep breaths to calm himself before replying in as steady a tone as he could manage. "And may I inquire what possessed you to fraternize thus with the enemy?" Diana thew her head back and laughed at the accusation; her merry peals of mirth echoing about the room.

"So _dramatic!_ Don't use such harsh language with a jaded old woman like me and expect it to get you anywhere. I can see _right through you Bruce Wayne."_ She declared, pointing an accusing finger at him. Bruce didn't so much as twitch a muscle under her gaze, though he could feel his body temperature spiking. Jesus... Maybe she actually _could_ read his thoughts. He'd wondered about that for years; and now would be a _very_ uncomfortable time to have that theory confirmed.

"After all, if you _really_ thought of those girls as 'the enemy', would you have lead Isley to her new home and arranged for the supplies she needed to build that cottage of hers to be left abandoned on the forest's edge? Would you be putting so much effort into keeping Harleen safe, even watching over her yourself day and night? Those girls might not realize it, but they both have a guardian angel in you. And anyway," She continued with a dismissive wave. "It wasn't just me. Helena and Barbra were both there as well, and they both agree with me. So there." She concluded, sticking her tongue out in a particularly childish gesture.

"I see..." Bruce muttered, wincing as his ulcers flared up. "Diana, please meet me topside after the meeting. I'd like to speak to you about this in greater detail. Clarke, the floor is yours." Clarke nodded, then rose gravely to his feet and addressed the assembly.

"Yesterday evening I was contacted by a person who I believed to be my chief informant within ISIS. He informed me that a massive weapon shipment was being transported and would be used immediately upon arrival at its destination. I wasted no time in heading over and was able to intercept the caravan as they crossed through Syria, seemingly on their way to Aleppo." With those words the mood in the room shifted drastically, taking a far darker turn. Clarke took a deep breath, then continued.

"It turned out to be a UN convoy, or at least it appeared to be. The personnel were also dressed in brand-new UN uniforms; and the trucks were carrying seeds for the reconstruction efforts. I wasn't content to go off my first impression however, and a quick search revealed that the trucks and their crew were carrying thermite explosives... Several tons between them." The room was silent as the grave, but for Barry who let out a low whistle of amazement.

"After that, the men fired on me and spouted some cliched drivel about 'The Serpent creating a better world' or some nonsense before igniting the explosives and immolating themselves and the entire convoy."

" _Why?"_ Barry blurted out.

"Set up." Victor guessed.

"That's what I thought." Clarke agreed. "And I thought so even more when I followed the trail of the convoy backwards a ways. I found the point of ambush, the bodies of the UN workers stacked like trash. I also found my informant... Or rather his head; with his eyes, ears and tongue removed."

" _Fuck..."_ Barry whispered. Bruce ground his teeth in rage. He'd met the man a few times; Achmed was his name. He was honorable, a true patriot and utterly fearless. And now he was dead, just like so many other heroes; so many other friends... He just hoped that Clarke killed whoever was behind the man's murder, because he'd be a hell of a lot nice about it than Bruce would.

"Obviously I suspected this was a setup by Luthor," Clarke continued "Especially given his involvement with the reconstruction initiative. After all, it wouldn't be the first time he'd pulled something like this. Still, I needed more proof than just his involvement in the project and my hunch. The last thing I needed was that psychotic bastard getting off again on 'lack of evidence'. Then I saw the paper this morning." With that he began to type on his own interface and brought the online copy of the paper up on one of the screens. "Superman Destroys Seed Shipment: Islamophobia, Or A Strike At GMO's?" The headline read.

"That's... A rather odd thing to focus on." Bruce said after a moment. "They could have gone after you any number of other ways, particularly as an enemy of the UN... Why go that route?"

"Sound's like whoever wrote that cared a lot more about the seeds than the people." Victor stated.

"Or major diplomatic shitstorms for that matter." Arthur growled. Clarke nodded.

"Agreed. So you can imagine my surprise when I got a phone call from Lex Luthor himself." Silence once more gripped the room as everyone thought some variation of the exact same thing: This couldn't be good.

"We agreed to meet at a location of my choosing, and when he showed up he... Well, he completely lost his shit. Said I'd finally shown my "true colors", even dared me to kill him right then and there. Obviously I declined."

"More's the pity." Arthur grunted, sending a light ripple of laughter through the room. Clarke even chuckled a bit himself before continuing.

"The point is that he seemed to be even more in the dark about it than I was... And I didn't have any kind of lead beyond him. And before you ask, no, I don't think it was an act. Luthor's particular brand of insanity doesn't lend itself to believable lying. Manipulation yes, but the man couldn't lie his way out of a paper bag."

"So..." Bruce began slowly, rising as Clarke took his seat. "In conclusion we have a violent smear job by a powerful enemy that isn't Lex Luthor... Someone that even he didn't see coming. This... 'Serpent' character. Were any of the soldiers wearing an Ouroboros symbol? A red snake twisted into a figure eight?"

"Not that I could see, why?"

Bruce waved his hand, dismissing the question. "It's likely just a coincidence, and we can discuss it later. Anyway they seem to be steering the propaganda _away_ from the expected anti-government angle and towards some sort of fringe islamophobic or anti-GMO direction. Interesting... I still don't think we should completely rule Luthor out, if only on the off-hand chance that he finally learned how to lie convincingly. He and I regularly spy on each other and are well aware of it; so an additional probe here or there shouldn't cause an issue. There's also the possibility that it's someone within the UN who has it out for us, or for Clarke specifically. I have some contacts, but not nearly as many as some. Arthur, Diana, see if you can sniff anything out."

"Will do." She replied with a nod.

"I'll talk to some of my contacts, but are you sure this wasn't just ISIS or some other radical group?" Arthur asked. Bruce shook his head.

"I'm not sure of anything right now and we shouldn't dismiss any credible theory. That said, my gut tells me that they were merely pawns in this; useful idiots. Clarke, have you been contacted by anyone in the UN?" Clarke shook his head. "Good. If no one contacts you in the next twenty-four hours then we can safely assume that they aren't buying it... Or at least, that too few of them are for any action to be taken yet. That said, it's likely that whoever was behind this will try something else, and _any_ of us could be a target. So be on your guard and exercise _extreme_ situational awareness. None of us needs to deal with the fallout of being framed for murder or worse. Understood?"

"Understood!" They replied as one. Bruce sighed, hesitating a moment before beginning his own report.

"Well, I guess it's my turn. This morning, I was contacted by Talia Al Ghul. She met me outside my home on the way to my car with a rather singular message."

"Bow-chicka-bow-ow!" Barry began, his rude call ending in a genuine exclamation of pain as Victor socked him in the arm. Bruce rolled his eyes and continued.

"She told me that her father had recently entered a Lazarus pit and emerged unchanged. It seems that Ra's Al Ghul has reached the final days of his life. According to the note she passed to me from him, his health is rapidly failing. He is dying, and quickly at that." Not even Barry had a smart response to that. Yet again the meeting shifted to a far graver tone than it had begun with. Though Ra's was an avowed enemy of the principles the Justice League stood for, the significance of his impeding death was lost on no one. Indeed, it was likely that the ripples of his end would be felt across the entire world, from the highest levels of government to the lowest hourly worker. For centuries, he had lead the world down a dark and bloody path in his quest for an ever elusive paradise... And now it would be up to another to take the reins. Every eye in the room was on Bruce, drilling into him with their expectant stares.

"I suppose you all can guess what else was in the note. In it, Ra's admitted his defeat at the hands of mortality and begged me, among other things, to accept the mantle of the Demon's Head from him on whatever terms I desired; just so long as it was I leading them. He said he would trust no other. Though I have been faced with this choice for some years, it seems that I am quickly running out of time to decide. I... Wish to hear your opinions."

"Well... Obviously you have to accept it. No one can lead them like you could." Diana stated simply, mirroring his own thoughts; or at least the prevailing ones.

"I'm not so sure." Clarke countered. "Bruce, the League of Assassins... You know as well as I do that that cult has been responsible for untold _millions_ of deaths over the centuries, nearly three-hundred million in the last century alone; and that's not even counting the wars! The _devil himself_ could drown in the blood they've shed! If you ask me, they are tainted beyond all redemption. Let them fall, or let Talia lead them. There's no reason for you to burden yourself with their sins."

"Talia made it clear that she has neither the ability nor the intention of leading them-" Bruce began, only to be cut off.

"And if she did, what then?" Arthur demanded. "If she or someone else continues to lead them down the same bloody path, we will only get more of the same. A weapon once used for evil need not always be."

"They are _people_ , not weapons!" Clarke countered.

"Perhaps so," Hal interjected. "But my own Lantern Corps has been used to evil ends in the past... Yet now they are a force for good. I'm not excusing the League or its members, but I really believe that the right leader can make all the difference; and they would be hard pressed to find a more moral leader than Bruce. If anyone can turn them around-"

 _"Fuck that!"_ Barry objected, throwing his hands into the air. "Don't get me wrong, Tali's super hot and all, but the rest of them? Those maniacs can solve their own problems!"

"And in so doing _cause_ more problems for the world at large!" Arthur almost shouted in response.

"I think a calm, well reasoned response is called for here." Diana said, attempting to mollify the others. "We need to weigh the pros and cons and come to a rational decision."

"Oh yes, because _rationality_ has always been their strong suit." Clarke sneered. "Their ideas are so fucking rational that they needed to murder _millions_ to enforce them!"

" _Enough!"_ Bruce shouted, bringing the rest of the League to heel. "The decision, and its consequences, are mine. I simply wanted council, nothing more. Victor, you've been pretty quiet. What do you think?"

"I'm not sure..." He said slowly. "We've all done terrible things in the name of a greater cause. I ain't sayin' that we're like them but... Maybe they _do_ just need some proper leadership. Or maybe they're rotten to the core. I couldn't say. But I _can_ say that I trust you Bruce. I trust you to make the right choice, and I'll support you in it."

Clarke sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I guess I trust you too. I don't trust _them,_ but I _do_ trust _you_. If you choose to lead them, you'll have my support."

"Whatever man, just keep them away from me." Barry surrendered. "Except Talia. If you're not going to give her another shot, I'm totally available."

"I really don't think she'd go for you Barry." Bruce replied with a laugh.

"Are you kidding? Look at this face!" He retorted, turning his face sideways. _"Best profile in the game!"_ They all laughed heartily at that, feeling the tension of the previous moments drain away.

"Well if that's all, then I officially declare this council adjourned." Bruce announced. "You may now hit the bar."

"'Bout time!" Barry crowed, slamming his hand on the table and vanishing a moment later.

* * *

Bruce leaned heavily against the railing, relishing the salty ocean spray on his face and the charged feel of the air between one storm and the next. He had left the others in the bar several minuets ago, waiting for Diana to meet him at the top of the lighthouse. She still hadn't arrived yet, which suited him just fine. He was just starting on his third bottle of mead; and the bitter-sweet honey wine had done wonders to calm his nerves. He didn't like sharing such personal troubles, but he could hardly think of anyone he trusted more than her to-

"Is this spot taken?" Came a sultry voice from behind him.

"Nope. It's all yours." He replied with a grand gesture to the railing beside him. Diana sauntered up next to him, holding her own bottle of wine.

"Sorry I was late," She apologized. "I was giving Arthur some advice to pass on to Mera. Poor man's a nervous wreck, even if he doesn't show it."

"I can imagine. After already losing one child-"

"Four." She interrupted before taking a drink.

"I beg your pardon?!" Bruce blurted in shock. He'd certainly never heard this before. She nodded grimly, a final drink and setting her bottle aside before replying.

"Of course you know their son was murdered. Politics is a nasty business, even in Atlantis... What you don't know and _didn't hear from me,_ was that they had three miscarriages before he was born."

" _Jesus Christ..."_ Bruce whispered. "No wonder he's so grim all the time. Poor bastard. Both of them actually."

"I agree. But I've learned a few tricks over the years, and I'm not about to let this pregnancy fail. Not a chance. Anyway, are you sure you want to be up here without your mask? Someone might see..." She whispered an an exaggeratedly conspiratorial tone.

"Says the woman who doesn't even wear a mask." He responded before taking a swig. "Anyway, I checked the scanners. We're clear."

"So, you seemed upset with me before... Are you going to punish me? Will it involve spanking?" She inquired in a mockingly arched tone. Bruce snorted and rolled his eyes.

"You're a dirty old woman, you know that?" She laughed gaily at his accusation, her dark locks dancing fitfully in the wind as she shook her head.

"When you get to be my age you learn to enjoy the little things. And teasing the children is _definitely_ one of the little things."

"I'm a child now am I?" Bruce asked wryly.

" _Everyone's_ a child to me darling... You'll see what I mean when you get to be my age." She replied with a wink.

"I _sincerely_ doubt that I'll ever reach your age."

"Well see..." She said with a cryptic smile. "And anyway, even if you don't make it before this body gives out you _will_ make it. Tell me Bruce... Do you know what death is?"

"A parting?" He guessed. "A separation?" She shook her head.

"Death is the world's greatest smoke-and-mirrors act." She proclaimed as she gazed off into the darkness. "Now you see it, now you don't! Here today, gone tomorrow! But the dove, the bouquet of flowers is still there... And everyone on the other side of the magician's sheet can see it, even the audience can't. But we will. All of us will die someday, even I. Death is but the next change for us; the next step in our evolution... And change is the one eternal truth of our existence." She sighed morosely, her voice now as distant as her gaze. Bruce peered into the night with her, pondering her words. True, he had always believed that life continued in one form or another beyond the gates of death... But somehow, hearing it from the eternal woman beside him seemed to lend it that much more weight, and was rather comforting even if hearing such talk of death from a person three-thousand years old also lent the subject an almost horrifying level of inevitability. To think that even _she_ would one day face her death...

"But I'm sure you didn't pull me away from the rest of the family to listen to me prattle on thus." She said with a smile.

"We really do tend to view each other that way, don't we?" He asked with a smile to match hers.

"Indeed... We're a wayward bunch of scoundrels, but we're all that some of us have. This glorious family of misfits that we put together."

"Even though it was Clarke who inspired it all... Not that we could ever tell him that." Bruce stated with a chuckle.

"Oh no... That boy's head is big enough as it is. Best not to add fuel to the fire."

"Anyway, I've run into a bit of a... Snag recently. A snag to do with my love life." He specified. "I can't think of anyone else I trust with this particular topic, so I was hoping to get your advice."

"Oh that's so sweet!" Diana bubbled, no doubt to push his buttons. "How are you and Caitlin doing anyway?"

"Well..." He began with a deep breath. "If you had asked me yesterday, I'd have said we were ready to break up. If you had asked last night, I'd have said... Well, nothing because you wouldn't have been allowed in the room." That got a laugh out of her. He waited for a second before pressing on. "And now today we aren't speaking. She's been ignoring my calls, and normally she's clingy as all hell. And before you ask, no, I don't know why. She even told me to call her this morning." Diana nodded seriously, pondering his words. But he wasn't finished just yet.

"Then this morning... I discovered a way to conquer Crane's new fear toxin. By focusing on a symbol of unconditional love and trust, on someone who I felt I could let into my life completely, I was able to find a place of safety and subdue the nightmares. Unfortunately that symbol, that _person_ , wasn't who it should have been." She nodded sagely again before speaking, her question cutting far deeper than he expected it to.

"It was Harleen, wasn't it?" He blanched, the ease with which she had guessed hitting him like a physical blow.

"How did you know?" He asked softly. She laughed again, wrapping a familiar arm around his waist.

"I just connected the dots between your reaction and what you just told me. Well, that and the little tidbits I've picked up over the years. This isn't exactly a new infatuation, is it? You've had your eye on her for years, ever since she first transferred to Gotham... And given her history, it scares the hell out of you, doesn't it?" Bruce clenched his his fist, fighting the feelings of self-loathing and anger that threatened to overwhelm him.

"I've made promises... Promises that need to be kept. And besides, I have a mission to fulfill, one that can't be compromised with such unstable elements. The people of Gotham-"

"Oh bullshit." She snorted. "What about you? Aren't you a person too? Isn't it about time that you indulged in a little constructive selfishness?"

"Diana..." Bruce sighed. "She's the Joker's ex girlfriend for Christ's sake! If there's a single person in all the world who would be objectively worse-"

"Oh Bruce!" she exclaimed with a peal of mirth as she wrapped her arms about his neck and leaned against the railing in a gesture that would have been seductively charming from any other woman, yet somehow still maintained a matronly air. "You're not a robot and no matter what you tell yourself, you're not monster- look at me!" She snapped, cupping his face in her hands. "You're _not_ a monster. You're a flesh and blood man, and a damn good one at that. We don't get to choose who we're attracted to, only what we do about it. You have nothing to feel guilty about."

"But I love Caitlin." He protested, gently pulling her hands down from his face.

"Look me in the eyes and say that." She challenged him. He met her gaze and almost crumbled beneath the weight of it. Countless years of wisdom bored into his very soul, leaving him feeling frighteningly naked and vulnerable.

"I... I..." He tried to speak the words, but they died in his throat. "Goddamnit..." He swore quietly. She smiled and gently caressed his cheek.

"There there my boy..." She crooned. "You can't lie to me, and you shouldn't lie to yourself. _Just give in already."_ With titanic effort he broke from her gaze and shook his head in stubborn refusal.

"No. I can't break my word. But... I can't keep watching over her if I feel this way, especially after she gets out. Tim and the others will have to guard her. I can't, I won't."

"I see... So that's how it's going to be..." She whispered in a mournful voice.

"Why so sad?" Bruce asked as he plastered a false smile to his face.

"You really can't tell?" She inquired with a sad smile. "I love you Bruce Wayne. You, Arthur, Barry, Barbara... All of you. _Your_ happiness is _my_ happiness. It breaks my heart to see your unremittant devotion rob you of life's simple joys. But you're a grown man and I wouldn't force your hand if I could... Even given her apparent obsession with you. " And with that she turned away and left him standing speechlessly by the railing. Her obsession... With _him?!_ What the _hell_ was she talking about?! Could it really be that he haunted her dreams just as she haunted his? What she'd said was true... He'd had feelings for her from their fist meeting, and even all the wrong she had done hadn't served to quell them in the least. And now as her guardian, those feelings hand found fertile soil to grow and spread. Every time he saw her it got worse; and to think what it would be like if they _worked_ together... He simply _couldn't_ allow himself to feel this way when he was in love with... With... _Goddamint, what was her name?!_

"Bruce?" Diana' voice carried on the wind that blew harshly at his back.

"Yes?" He replied, turning to face the eternal woman. She stood tall against the approaching storm, her features highlighted by the flashing lightning; the ultimate portrait of unbridled beauty. She was... Breathtaking. There was no better word for it.

"When you leave Caitlin, and you _will_ leave her," She stated without a hint of doubt. Bruce felt a sick pain in chest as he realized that she'd never been wrong about such things before. "You grab that girl, you hold her tight and _never let go._ She may have been lead briefly astray, but I've lived long enough to know a person's heart from a few brief moments. A woman like her is worth more than all the treasures of Olympus."

For several long moments they faced each other, neither willing to give an inch. Then, almost as one, they turned away: Her to the stairs leading down to her family, and him to the dark sea that tossed and turned beneath him like the storm of doubt and loneliness that raged within his heart.

 **Author's Note:** Hello all, it's been a while! Hopefully you're doing well as we approach the tail end of the holiday season. I have been wondering... I imagine a number of you also write. Though I have repeatedly overcome it whenever it strikes (and this tale is already written from beginning to end it note form), I wonder how you guys deal with "Writer's Block"? What strategies do you use to get the creative juices flowing? Feel free to message me with your replies and as always, thanks for reading!


	14. Chapter 14

**Batman: Armistice**

 _ **Chapter Fourteen**_

 **March 5th**

The ticking of the old grandfather clock in the lobby rang in Bruce's ears like the thundering of an irate god as he waited, his heart sick with grief and rage. His mind churned with memories: Images, sounds and even scents. The colors of the sunrise over the sea, the stink of freshly gutted fish and the contrastingly savory smell of that same fish smoked; the sound of children chattering between classed in school as his friend met him at his locker. Dave...

Dave had been one of his few friends during high-school and had even shared the few days that Bruce has spent in his actual university building with him. They had stayed in touch here and there throughout the years; either going out for camping trips or a fishing trip every year or so. The man wasn't wealthy, but he had done well for himself; and every time they went on an outing, Dave insisted on paying. A kindness for the man who could afford anything, given entirely out of love. It had been over a year since they had spoken, and given their unspoken rule about not prying into personal matters Bruce hadn't really known what what was going on with him, until last night...

Bruce's fists clenched in rage as the veins in his neck popped dangerously from his skin. After three days of no-call no-show at his office, they had finally sent the police to check on his friend... Apparently at the dingy apartment he lived in after losing his home. They hand found his body hanging from the ceiling fan, already showing signs of decay. There was no note... None was needed.

After word of his friend's death had reached him, Bruce looked into the case... And what he found had horrified him. Divorce. His home, his wife, his children... All ripped from him almost overnight. Even his dog, Bear, had died suddenly at about the same time. There was speculation that the dog had been poisoned by his ex, just to ensure that he was left completely alone in the world. Bruce dug deeper, into the case files and court documents; wanting, _needing_ to know what had happened. The files were positively _dripping_ with corruption. False allegations, trumped up evidence and outright fraud... Perjury was the most mild of the sins detailed in those pages. And the woman's lawyer... _Her lawyer..._

The door across from him opened and in walked Caitlin, smiling widely without a care in the world. A woman he had thought he knew, a woman he had trusted with his heart. Truly love was blind; for it had blinded his normally piercing gaze from the evil that dwelt within her cankered soul...

"Good morning Honey! I... Bruce?" She asked, her smile faltering as she noticed the expression on his face. "Honey, what's the matter?"

"Does the name David Cranston ring a bell?" He inquired, his voice carefully composed to mask the majority of his fury. But that one question was all it took to wipe the smile from her face.

"How do you know that name?" Her voice was suddenly flat and dead, devoid of any emotion.

"He's one of my oldest friends... But you already knew that, didn't you? That's why you took such elaborate steps to hide the case from me, even _before_ I began looking into your current cases. I wonder, did you also know that he's dead?"

"Maybe." Her answer was like a knife in his heart. So she _had_ known. And even still, she didn't care. The lives he had been forced to take, the ruined lives of the survivors and loved ones... They haunted his every waking moment. But for her, there was nothing. Just the cold, unfeeling response of a psychopath. God, how could he have been so wrong about her? Had he _ever_ known her? "But I really don't understand what it has to do with me."

"This has _everything to do with you!"_ He bellowed, his wrath pouring forth as the dam of his self control broke. "You framed him for abuse he never committed! You allowed your client to lie in court! You coaxed false testimony from his _four-year-old daughter,_ tricking her into claiming that he molested her! You practically _murdered him with your own two hands! Why?!_ He was a good man, a good father! And he wasn't even rich! This wasn't even a big case! _Why?!"_

"I've had a perfect record so far and this was a tough case! I couldn't afford to lose it!" She answered, her own voice rising. He Bruce was flabbergasted. _This_ was her justification? _This?!_

"Besides," she continued. "I did what was best for the children!" Bruce shook his head in shock, almost unable to process what he had just heard.

"How in the _blue fuck_ is this good for the children?!" He demanded. She folded her arms, glaring arrogantly at him.

"His wife wasn't interested in joint custody, and obviously leaving them with a man was out of the question." She stated simply, as if that explained everything.

"What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?!"

"Your kidding right?" She asked in what seemed almost line genuine disbelief. "Men can't raise children! They're violent, misogynistic, sexually predatory and abusive! Jesus Bruce, you should know that! Look at the world we live in! The patriarchy, _men_ , made it this way!Not women, _men!"_

"Do you even _hear_ yourself?!" He hollered. "As if women have no power, as though they have _nothing_ to do with the way the world is! You live in _Gotham Goddamn City!_ Our current mayor is a woman! Some of our worst criminals are women! And let's not even get _into_ the statistics about fatherless homes and what kind of women are _raising_ these maniacs!"

"Oh whatever!" She snapped, turning with a dismissive wave and stomping a few feet away from him. If she thought this childish display was going to bring him up short, she was _sorely_ mistaken.

"And in case you forgot, _I'm a man!"_

"Yeah, and just look at you!" She spat venomously, rounding on him. "Here you are abusing me! Fucking yelling at me like this, as if that could ever be justified! You're a perfect example of why men can't be allowed to raise children!"

"In case you forgot," he retorted. "I have successfully raised three, count them _three_ , children; in spite of... _Very_ trying circumstances!" He finished, unable to explain exactly what those circumstances were but unwilling to back down in the face of such flagrant dishonesty.

"Oh yeah?" Caitlin sneered. "Didn't turn out too well for the second one did it?" Bruce felt as though he had been plunged into a freezing lake, the shock quickly replaced with a new sort of anger... A cold, murderous wrath that both froze his blood and burned in his mind. How dare she? How _dare she?!_

"Leave. Jason. Out of this." He warned her in a deadly whisper.

"Oh? Hit a nerve there did I?" She scoffed, either not picking up on his warning or else failing to realize that she walked within a hair's breadth of death. "Maybe if you'd been there for him, he wouldn't have wound up wrapped around a tree! You think I believe for a _fucking second_ that it was brake failure?! I bet he was drunk off his ass-"

" _Goddamn you! Goddamn you!"_ Bruce screamed as he rushed towards her, his mind filled with images of blood. Grief tore at his soul as he remembered Jason's body, his head an unrecognizable pile of gore. Yet when his mind twisted the memory into _her_ corpse, _her_ shattered skull, he was filled with a sort of savage joy. Finally she recoiled in fear, cowering when she saw the look in his eyes. With titanic effort, he halted himself just a few feet away from her. "Leave me alone." He whispered, his voice echoing lifelessly in the vestibule. "We're finished."

"What?" She asked in disbelief. "You're... You're breaking up with me? Over this?"

"You're Goddamn right I am." He said, pointing at the door as his voice returned to normal. "Get the fuck out of here."

"I... I didn't want to tell you this yet, but I guess I have to. I'm pregnant." She announced with the barest hint of a triumphant smile on her lips. In that instant, Bruce's whole world seemed to freeze in place. All his anger vanished in an instant, replaced with almost unbearable sorrow. He could actually feel the strain on his heart, and briefly wondered if this was the end for him. In a twisted way, it seemed appropriate. Surely there was no more fitting end for Gotham's Knight than a broken heart.

"How could you?" He whispered, his voice filled with the tears that his pride wouldn't allow him to shed. "I loved you. I gave you everything, offered you the world... And now, after everything else you have done... You would add adultery to it all."

"W-what are you talking about?" She stuttered in shock. "The baby's yours-"

" _Bullshit it is, I'm sterile!"_ He bellowed, cutting her off.

"I...I..." She stammered, obviously at a loss for words. He turned away in disgust. There was nothing else she could possibly say that he wanted to hear. "Well you were cheating on me too!" She shouted.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He spat, rounding on her once more. "I never cheated on you!"

"Oh yeah? I saw you with her! That brunette girl? I saw you getting all over each-other in the motor-court!" She retorted, her tone awash with self-righteous vindication.

" _Talia?"_

"Oh is that her name?! Well I- _Why the fuck are you laughing?!"_ She squealed as he dissolved into hysterical laughter. This just _too much._ This couldn't be real. This had to be a dream, just another nightmare! Did he ever have any dreams that _weren't_ nightmares?

"I was holding her while she cried," He replied after several long seconds. "Because her father was just diagnosed with a _terminal illness."_

"W-well I just guess you just have an excuse for everything, don't you?" She said, though every facet of her tone and body language indicated that she knew she was rapidly loosing ground.

"Yeah, I do. And you don't, because you're a disgusting cunt." He responded. "Goodbye Caitlin. Don't let the door hit you in the ass on your way out."

"Wait!" She cried, her voice now desperate as she rushed around him and cut him off. "I'm sorry! I fucked up, ok? I was wrong, I admit it! But we can fix this!" She reached up and cupped his face in her hands. "I'll quit taking divorce cases, I can get an abort-" He reached up, grabbing her wrists in a crushing grip as his vision clouded with a blood-red haze. It was that easy for her was it? She thought she could have him back just like that, and all she had to do was butcher her own offspring. Would this be the first time she'd had an abortion? From her tone, he doubted it. How many had she killed already? Two? Three? Twenty? He'd give away every last penny and asset to his name _in a heartbeat_ for the joy, the _privilege_ of raising a child of his own flesh and blood; and yet she would have that sacred joy torn from her body for the sake of _convenience,_ as though her hands weren't already stained with enough innocent blood.

"Bruce.. Bruce, you're hurting me!" She cried, tears springing to her eyes. He could stop it right now, end the trail of ruin she carved as she passed through the world. It would be easy. First, he'd snap her arms like toothpicks before throwing her to the floor. Then he'd straddle her and choke the life from her worthless flesh; just like in the vision Crane's gas had given him. It would be so very easy, perhaps even pleasant...

He released her wrists, pulling himself back from the brink mere _seconds_ before he lost his soul to his own anger. "Get out." He commanded, his voice barely audible.

"Bruce-"

" _Get out!"_ he screamed, his face red with fury and spittle flying from his lips. Finally her will broke, and she ran crying from the manor, never to darken his doorway again. Bruce howled in rage and swung his hist, shattering a nearby vase. So great was his anger that he didn't even feel the sharp edge slice into his knuckles and only noticed by sight the hot blood that poured from the wound. The sound of the clay shattering, however, snapped him out of his blind rage. He noticed a familiar form out of the corner of his eye and squeezed his eyes shut, sighing in both exasperation and embarrassment.

"Was that valuable?" He asked.

"A worthless replica." Alfred replied. Bruce nodded, somewhat mollified.

"Good. So... How much did you hear?"

"The entire epic I'm afraid." Came the urbane reply. "I suppose you want me to feign distress at her absence?"

"Knock yourself out." Bruce growled, as he marched over and sat down on the central stairwell. Alfred cleared his throat and began his speech.

"Oh dear. The light of my master's life has left us." he recited in a grossly overplayed monotone. Bruce began to chuckle, spurring the butler on to even greater heights. "Woe is me. What _shall_ I do? I s _uppose_ I shall have to garb myself in sackcloth and ashes now. Give me a knife so I may stab my hand and mar my face in a _completely_ rational expression of grief. Weep for the linen that shall be soiled as I do the laundry today." By this point Bruce was laughing so hard that it hurt as tears of mirth streamed from his eyes.

"Alright, stop! Please, just stop already!" Alfred grinned as he watched Bruce's mood improve, then took a seat beside him.

"I won't pretend not to be concerned about your pain Bruce." The butler said seriously. "But I also won't pretend that I'm not glad to see her leave. In fact, given how she's treated you these past few weeks, I'll admit some amazement that you didn't end it before today."

"Well," Bruce began by way of explanation. "I'm currently sitting at a one-hundred percent track record of women leaving _my_ crazy ass. I have a reputation to maintain!" Both of them laughed at that, the lobby seemed to brighten as their voices echoed throughout the hall before Bruce's tone became serious once more.

"Maybe what you said before was true. Maybe I didn't really love her because I couldn't trust her completely. But God Alfred, I wanted to! I wanted so much to love her and to finally feel secure in her love; to get married and have a real family and..." He bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair, sighing morosely.

"I know you did." Alfred replied as he wrapped a comforting arm about Bruce's shoulders. "And truth be told, I wanted that for you as well. I still do in fact; that's why I'm happy to see her gone. With her out of the way you can stop wasting time and find a woman who deserves you."

"No." Bruce shook his head in denial. "I'm done. This... This was one betrayal more than I can stand. And thanks to her, I now have to bury another friend..."

"And if there is a hell, I hope she burns within it forever for that. Her and that vile woman poor Davy was married to. Damn them both." Alfred snarled. In his grief it was easy to forget, but Alfred had also known and liked Dave. Not as much as Bruce had, but he was sure that his loss still hurt. They sat together for several long moments, sharing each-others sorrow before Alfred spoke again.

"Well, ever onward yes? On to bigger and better things. And I do believe that we have work to do today, and beating some nerdowells into submission should help take the edge off things."

"If it comes to that. Anyway, I'll be along shortly." Bruce said, noting as they rose to their feet that his cut had nearly stopped bleeding. Alfred looked him in the eyes, seeming to read his intention.

"Very well. I shall meet you in the cave." He replied with a nod. Then the two men parted, one heading for the indoor entrance to their underground lair and the other towards the nearest door to the rear of the estate. "Master Bruce." Alfred called out just before Bruce exited the room.

"Yes?"

"I must say in parting that I'm rather surprised she never ascertained that you are the Batman." Alfred stated plainly.

"Really?" Bruce asked in bewilderment. "Why?"

Alfred leaned forward and wagged a finger to emphasize his point. " _No one_ but the Batman would have the fortitude to put up with _that_ spoiled twat for over a year." Bruce smiled and chuckled again, though it was partially an act for his friend. Still, this seemed to satisfy the old man; and with that they parted ways.

* * *

Voices and images boiled in Bruce's mind, merging into a cacophony of soundless noise and discordant, conflicting emotions. So deeply immersed was he in his thoughts that he was totally unaware of the journey between the foyer and the outstretched arms of the ancient oak that stood sentinel on the grounds. One moment he and Dave were having a laugh as the scale informed them of just how badly Bruce had lost their fishing competition, and the next he was hearing the words of the man's sister over the cellphone; barely able to process what he was hearing. One moment he was making love to Caitlin, her body moving in time with his and her face a mask of ecstasy, and the next she was shrugging off the death of his friend with the same detachment he had seen in serial killers. David, Caitlin; his friend, his lover...

"Gaaaahhh!" He screamed in furious agony as he fell to his knees beneath the gently rustling boughs. He screamed again, setting loose his grief and wrath as his fists pounded into the soft earth. Why hadn't David come to him for help? Why did he so often arrive too late? Why did the bodies of the good keep piling up while the wicked ran free? Why did he keep flitting from one empty, one-sided romance to the next? _In God's name why?!_

After a while he lifted his eyes, his gaze falling on the small marble mausoleum that lay across the creek from him, shaded in a surrounding grove of elms. Within those walls lay the last three generations of Waynes... Including his parents.

"God I envy you two right now." He whispered, realizing with a sudden pang that it was absolutely true. The losses this morning had left him with what felt like a heart in total ruin and, as if summoned by his despair, the lessons of Crane's nightmarish concoctions reared their ugly head in the broad light of day.

" _You will lose everyone you love."_ Dark voices seemed to whisper conspiratorially in his mind. _"One by one they will die, abandon or betray you... And it will be entirely your fault."_

"So be it." He whispered in reply to the silent accusations, sighing morosely as he resigned himself to his fate. "Maybe I can't avoid it, maybe I even deserve it.. But Dave _didn't."_ he finished through gritted teeth. One thing was for sure, he wasn't about to let this injustice stand. Not while there were still innocent lives to be saved. With his course set, he marched resolutely back to the manor; fishing his phone out of his pocket and starting slightly as it began to ring and vibrate in his hand.

"Lucius huh?" He muttered. While it was generally unusual for Lucius Fox to call him from the office, it had become an uncomfortably common occurrence in the few weeks; and every time it had been bad news. After two failed car-bombing attempts at WayneTec, one attempted infiltration and no less than _six_ attempted hacks, Bruce had come to view these calls as a fair indication that his day was about to take a turn for the worse. Though today, he thought grimly as he answered the phone, it would just be par for the course.

"Good morning Lucius, what can I do for you?"

"Ah Bruce, good morning to you as well." Came his CEO's crisp reply. "I know that you have an interview at noon, but I was hoping that you could come in a little earlier. There's something I'd like to discuss with you in person."

"Another bomb?" Bruce inquired, going straight for the worst case in the hopes that whatever it actually was would seem pleasant in comparison. Though if it _were_ another bomb, maybe whoever Sionis had hired to plant the damn things would make a mistake this time, leave some kind of evidence. He had been annoyingly proficient thus far in covering his tracks.

"Oh no. Actually, it's rather good news. Or at least, it has the potential to be."

"Well that's a refreshing change." Bruce grumbled. "I'll be by in about an hour and a half. I assume you're there in the right now?"

"I am indeed."

"Could you pass the phone to Deirdre?" He asked. "I need her to do something for me."

"Of course. She's right here." After a couple of seconds, a far sweeter and distinctly feminine voice filtered through the speakers and to his ears.

"Hello? Mr. Wayne?"

"Yes, it's me. I need you to drop whatever you're doing right now and do something for me."

"Yes sir!." She replied, her tone so serious that he could almost see her snapping to attention on the other end of the line.

"On my desk is a file labeled 'Amber Cranston.'." He began. "I need you to get the file and its contents to a Mr. Greg Emerson at the Gotham City CPS branch. Then I want you to contact Dianne at the Wayne Foundation office and tell her that we have two children incoming; a boy and a girl, ages two and four respectively. And please tell her to let the Gwinnet couple know about it. She'll know who I mean. Got all that?"

"Got it. I'll get it done boss!" Bruce smiled at her adorably over-eager response.

"Thanks Deirdre, you're a life saver." Though, the mused as he hung up, in this case she really _would_ be a life saver to those children. The transition would be difficult, but the Gwinnet's were a good couple, and would be wonderful parents. He'd been keeping an eye out especially for them after he'd met them in December, and heard about the woman's inability to conceive. This would be a blessing for both them _and_ the children... And frankly, almost any couple he could think of would be an improvement over the sadistic witch they called "mother". On that train of thought he made a mental note to visit the children and spend some time with them. He didn't know them all that well, but they got along well enough and showing them that they still had a friend in him might help give them a sense of stability.

Bruce closed his eyes and breathed deeply, savoring the cool morning air and noting that his mood had improved a bit. There was a lot of truth to that old adage from Twain, he thought as he opened the door and headed inside.

" _The best way to cheer yourself up is to cheer someone else up."_

* * *

"Feeling better sir?" Alfred inquired politely as Bruce entered the cave's control room, his wounds now washed and bound.

"I'll live." Bruce replied tersely. Alfred grunted, wisely deciding against rehashing the events of the morning. "So, what do we have from the GCPD?"

"Fifteen more disappearances in the last week... And that's just what's been reported. ." Alfred told Bruce as he joined his friend at the console. "I hate to say it, but this is becoming an epidemic." Bruce nodded grimly in agreement.

"We need to stop it, fast. The problem is that there doesn't seem to be a common thread between them, and rarely is there any sign of struggle in the area where they vanished... On the few occasions when we know where that is. With no clear motive and not much in the way of evidence, tracking down the killer will be problematic to say the least."

"So you believe they are all dead?" Alfred asked.

"I do." Bruce stated flatly. "Even with the lack of bodies, it seems the most likely outcome. No ransoms have been requested, no statement made. In Gotham especially, that generally leaves only one other option. Bring up the names of everyone we have so far... With the new data, perhaps we can hammer out some sort of real pattern." Alfred complied, bringing up a disturbingly long list of missing persons from the last three months. At first it hadn't caught his attention... One sad truth of living in Gotham city was that people often went missing, and sudden spikes were not unheard of. But when he caught wind of the count rising by fifty in three weeks, he knew he couldn't allow this to be handled by the police alone. They were at over a hundred already, and Bruce knew that for every regular person reported, there was normally two homeless people who no one noticed at all. If that was the case here as well, then the count was now over three hundred missing persons in three months time.

Bruce pursed his lips as he watched the profiles slide across the screen, watching for patterns. After a while, he began to notice some similarities that hadn't appeared before. He hated the fact that more lives needed to be lost in order to narrow the search, but unfortunately there was no way around it. Without data, without evidence, he'd be flailing in the dark.

"They seem to be fairly random, but did you notice the women? Of those missing, fourteen of them were natural blondes between the ages of seventeen and twenty-five. How many of those would you say that there are in Gotham?"

"Well not very many." Alfred murmured. "Certainly not enough for them to comprise fully half of the missing women. To call it a coincidence would strain credulity."

"Agreed." Bruce said with a nod. "Did you get a report from the homeless shelters?"

"From the ones we run yes, and a few others besides. It seems that they _have_ had a number of regulars fail to check in, though thankfully not as many as expected. Only fifty-six."

"While we can generally multiply that number by two, it's still fairly good news." Bruce stated. "So our number of missing persons in the last three months is closer to two hundred. Removing these," He continued, indicating several profiles, "For likely being regular gang violence, and several more due to more mundane reasons still leaves us with about one-hundred and fifty people... Which is still too damn many." Bruce pursed his lips in thought. Aside from the disproportionate amount of blondes, there didn't seem to be any rhyme or reason to the disappearances. He'd been guessing that a greater number of the homeless would have been affected, but the numbers being almost equal tanked his initial theory. Still, there were always patterns, even in chaos. It was just a matter of discovering them.

"Run a search on the profiles." Bruce commanded, a new idea springing to mind. "Check occupations. I need sewer-workers, plumbers, anyone who might have a reason to go crawling around under the city." Alfred dutifully complied, then let out a low whistle when the results came up.

" _Twenty-three men..._ How was this not reported?!"

"Maybe it was, and the union was blown off." Bruce muttered darkly. "People rarely care about those who keep their cities running, and this current city council isn't exactly what I'd call 'competent."

"And in such a short span of time I doubt they would have filed a lawsuit." Alfred added.

"I'm pretty sure what we'll find, but bring up that map again and overlay it with a map of manholes in the city." An instant later, the map became a riot of hundreds of tiny dots. "Alright, now let's narrow it down to the mains." And there it was: Almost a perfect correlation. There were some discrepancies and some overlaps, but it was more than he needed to confirm his theory.

"I do believe we have our pattern." Alfred whispered. "Dare I say that 'Crock' is back in town?" Bruce nodded.

"I have no idea where he's been since the mass breakout, but he clearly couldn't resist the lure of Gotham forever. This is interesting though. See how scattered the locations are?" He said, pointing at various locations for emphasis. "Not smart enough to avoid my city, but clearly smart enough to stay on the move in it. That's going to make hunting him down troublesome. And the fact that he's being so indiscriminate doesn't help matters." He paused, thinking again. To starve him out would grind the city to a halt, and there wasn't any reliable way to lure him out. If only there was a way to force him out into the open...

"Alfred, is Tim still here?" The butler shook his head.

"No, I'm afraid he left just before your... Altercation this morning. He's repairing a couple of key cameras by the hospital that have gone on the fritz, as well as checking to ensure that they weren't tampered with." Bruce grunted in response.

"I remember him mentioning that. I suppose I can swing by on the way to the office, assuming he's still there. I have an idea for luring Jones out into the open, but I'll need him to send a message tonight as I'll be busy."

"Forgive me sir," Alfred began as he usually did when he intended to berate Bruce. "But as I recall you were resolutely avoiding that area... And anything to do with monitoring Ms. Quinzel for that matter."

"Well my reason for doing so just walked out the door." Bruce replied tersely, realizing as he did that he had perhaps revealed more about his motivations than he cared to let on. A slight quirk of the eyebrow from Alfred seemed to indicate as much, but he tactfully refrained from perusing the matter.

"Still, that does remind me of another issue." Alfred continued. "Your explanation doesn't account for the young blonde girls. In fact, it honestly looks like some sort of serial killer maniac. But so many so quickly..."

"It's highly unusual." Bruce agreed. "Either we're dealing with an unhinged maniac or, more likely given the lack of evidence, we're dealing with someone who's done this sort of thing before; someone _very_ good at it."

"You're thinking of Tetch?" Bruce nodded. "Actually, I was wondering if it was the Joker acting out some vicarious vengeance on women who resemble Ms. Quinzel."

"The thought has crossed my mind as well." Bruce admitted. "Still, it's not even remotely his MO. On the other hand, the one constant about the Joker is his inconstancy. It's not my top theory, but I'm not discarding it just yet either. That said, I really should get going if I'm going to handle these other appointments before my meeting. Please leave a I-972A on the passenger's seat of the Tesla along with my multi-tool and a Mk. 27 case. I'll work on it in traffic."

"Master Bruce!" Alfred called out from behind just before Bruce left the room.

"Yes?"

"While you're out, could I trouble you to acquire a black armband? I seem to have misplaced mine."

Bruce rolled his eyes heavenwards and chuckled at the droll request. "Goodbye Alfred." He replied with a dismissive wave.

* * *

"Felt like creeping on the gimps again?" Tim quipped without even turning around, opting instead to focus on the camera he was working with. Bruce cracked a half-smile as he stood silently in the dormant trees behind his latest protege'. He'd always known that Tim had a sharp ear, but still was sometimes taken aback by just how perceptive he was. After all, Bruce was no slouch when it came to stealth. He'd taken great care not to cause any detectable as he walked across the the bramble-strewn forest floor, and had ensured not to rustle any of the leaves stuck to the dead branches by last year's sudden chill. He'd even breathed gently through his mouth to minimize his natural ambiance, yet somehow he'd still been detected by the young, camo-clad man in front of him.

"I'm impressed that you caught me." Bruce said. Tim shrugged and continued his work even as he replied.

"I heard someone move a couple of branches a ways back, then a picked up your breathing. It's pretty distinct. Anyway, you shouldn't be so shocked. I was trained by the best after all." Now Bruce smiled in his usual lop-sided way as he took the compliment in stride.

"Creeping on the gimps?" Bruce quoted with a sardonic lilt. "Could you be a little more offensive?"

"I'm sure I could if I tried." Tim joked, finally turning around; rubbing his chilled hands together and grinning with mirth. "What else do you call hanging out in a bunch of trees overlooking a physical therapy track? Not that it matters, I can say that sort of stuff. I have a cripple pass." He added, flippantly indicating his blind eye. "So about the cameras... The works were gummed up with plants. Yeah, plants."

Bruce sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "I'm sure I don't have to tell you how unlikely that is given the camera's casing and the short period of time."

"Yeah, not to mention it being winter." Tim replied drolly. "It looks like Ivy still doesn't trust you."

"Which is to be expected, but I wish she wouldn't show it by interfering with a plan that _she agreed to."_

"Well, what can ya do?" Tim asked with a quiet chuckle. "Women right? Can't live with em', can't kill em'. Speaking of which, how did things go with Caitlin?"

"Not well." Bruce growled. "We broke up." Tim nodded seriously, allowing for a moment of silence before speaking up.

"Eh, fuck her. She didn't deserve you anyway. Though I've gotta say, I think she got off easy. You were so pissed last night I thought you were going to kill her."

"The thought crossed my mind, and more than once." Bruce confessed. "Anyway, we should get going. I have a meeting in a a few minuets and-"

"Hang on, you've gotta see this." Tim interrupted, pointing through the foliage at the track field. Bruce drew closer and peered between the branches at the people making their way around the track below. "You have good timing. See that old guy there? Name's Richard Lowes. He started coming in for therapy about a week ago, so you wouldn't have seen him. I think he got a hip replacement or some shit. Anyway, he's been doing especially well this time, but he always looses it and slows down to a crawl on the last leg. And then..." His voice trailed off as he pointed again. Bruce followed his friend's finger, his breath catching ever so slightly.

There she was. The figure that was unmistakably Harleen Quinzel was lurching down the track opposite of the proper direction and heading straight for Mr. Lowes. When she arrived she continued her inelegant attempt at a jog, whilst taking care to keep pace with the old man. This resulted in her practically jogging in place, and Bruce could tell from her face and body language that she was cheerfully motivating him forward. Near the very end of the lap he stumbled and would have fallen if she hadn't reached out and caught him, wrapping his arm about her shoulders and using her own body as a crutch. In spite of the difficulty this clearly caused for her, she happily carried him to the finish line, even going so far as to applaud him when he finished the course.

"This has happened every day?" Bruce inquired quietly. Tim nodded.

"Every time he's been here. That makes five times counting today." He whispered in reply. "I just don't get it Bruce... _Her_ and the _Joker?_ How the hell did _that_ happen? What does someone like her see in a _thing_ like him?" Bruce had given this a lot of thought himself over the last several months, and chose his words carefully as he put forth the theory he'd come up with.

"When I first met her as a new transfer to Arkham, she was a very different woman. Thoughtful and considerate yes, but also... Cold. Distant. Always serious and professional. But to someone with my training, it seemed pretty clear that this wasn't her normal nature. She'd been repressing her natural personality, perhaps for years in order to pursue her career. Between that and whatever God-awful trauma that put her on the path, the Joker's humor, sick though it usually was, probably seemed like a breath of fresh air."

"So she... What? Falls for the Joker in order to be herself and just loses her shit?" Time asked incredulously. Bruce nodded.

"The harder the pendulum is pulled back, the farther it swings. Think a homosexual man who gets married to a woman and has a few kids. He suppresses his natural desires -and disgust-, as well as his personality and mannerisms and tows the line... Until one day, he just can't take it anymore. He snaps. The next thing you know he's run off to Vegas, abandoned his family and is found passed out in bed with three male hookers and a kilo of coke. Everyone says it came from nowhere, but it didn't. He just couldn't bear living a lie anymore and... Lost it. If she's naturally so affectionate, carefree happy then I imagine that several years as a heartless, driven, professional ice-queen would have taken their toll. This is doubly true if relief came in the form of someone she was strongly attracted to. Sexual attraction and emotional relief make for a potent cocktail. "

"Not potent enough to keep her around forever though... And how do you know that she has some kind of trauma adding to the issue?" Tim plied.

"There are only two things that can create that level of dedication: Love and pain. Usually both." Bruce stated, his voice as distant as his gaze. Tim nodded solemnly.

"Well I suppose you would-"

Bruce raised his hand sharply, cutting the boy off. Down below, Harleen was searching intently into the trees, her eyes flickering hither and yon as she searched the grove. Bruce carefully moved his eyes to the side, redirecting his gaze from her while standing still as the trees about him, knowing that any broad movement would be easily detected. It was highly unlikely that she had heard them, and thus it was far more probable that she had felt him looking at her and reacted. Most people could feel another's eyes upon them; this was in fact why snipers and other assassins were trained not to look directly at their target until the last possible moment. After several long seconds she gently shook her head and turned back to the rest of her group.

"Let's go." Bruce muttered tersely. They left without another word, and didn't even breath until they were back to the road and their two vehicles.

"I didn't expected her to notice us, especially from so far away." Tim breathed.

"I think everyone's become a little too enamored with her convivial nature." Bruce grumbled. "We shouldn't forget that she's a dangerous woman; one that could kill most people with a flick of her wrist."

"Not literally but yeah... I've had her lay a smackdown on me before. She's no pushover." Tim agreed. "So, you heading off now?"

"Momentarily. Lucius said there's something important I should hear before my interview, but I did have a reason for coming here."

"To watch the buxomy maiden's bouncing bosoms clearly."

"If Stephanie catches you ogling other women she's going to rip out your spine and beat you to death with it." Bruce dryly informed the youth.

"Well I guess we'll have to make sure that she doesn't catch me then, won't we?" Tim sallied. "Anyway, what did you need?"

"I need you to get a message to the mayor. Obviously in your suit, or she won't do it. I need the city to finish construction on the city's collaborative homeless shelter that I've had WayneTec working on with them, and I need it done within the week. Once finished I need a strong police presence around it 24/7."

"This is about all those missing people?" Tim guessed. Bruce gave an affirming nod before continuing.

"In addition, I need the manholes to the city's mane sewer-lines sealed, excepting only those specified on this map." Bruce explained as he handed Tim the folded print out he had made and printed on his way there. Tim unfolded the map and gave it a glance.

"Hmmm... That's still quite a few holes left open." He muttered. "What's with the color coded markings? I see a lot of yellow and a few red."

"The yellow will have these on them." Bruce explained, drawing a small device from his pocked. Tim's eyes lit up as he recognized it immediately."

"An ultra-high frequency sonic emitter, retrofitted with a water-resistant case." He said, identifying the item. "So... We're going after Croc then. As I recall, he has a serious issue with high-frequencies as well as a tendency to make people 'go missing'. So at a guess, we're installing these on the marked lids so that they are protected, but the workers can still get in at some points to do their thing. Right so far?" Bruce nodded, proud of the boy's ability to keep up.

"Exactly. And the acoustics of the pipes will give them a range well beyond normal-"

"Forcing him into the region with the red lids, yes." Tim muttered, cutting him off. "So the red ones are what... Rigged to blow or something?" Bruce shook his head.

"No, that would be too hazardous." He explained. "Too many chances for someone else to get hurt. Instead , they'll be fitted with sensors and a potent chemical tracker."

"That way we'll know the moment he sticks his ugly head out _and_ be able to track him to his lair. Clever." Tim said with an wolfish grin. "Though, if we're doing all this, why bother with pushing the shelter?"

"Because I'm not convinced that he's the sole cause of the disappearances." Bruce responded. "Which brings me to the final point: I want the mayor to issue a warning to the people of Gotham, particularly young blonde women. It seems like they are being targeted in particular."

"Got it." Tim said. "Though you know, you could have just done this over the phone. No need to come in person; I'd have just picked up the emitter later at home."

"Well I... Um..." Bruce halted, uncharacteristically flustered. Shit, he was right. This _could_ have all been done over the phone... Why the hell had he felt the need to come in person? Now that it had been pointed out, it was a totally illogical diversion. "I guess I just figured it wasn't too far out of the way." Tim cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, but seemed to decide after a moment not to press his mentor on the matter.

"Alright. Well, sayonara!" Tim exclaimed as he straddled his bike. "Oh Bruce, that reminds me! Helena's planning on ambushing you and insisting on accompanying you to your meeting tonight at eleven. So you'll want to leave earlier if you plan to avoid her."

"Is she really?" Bruce replied. "Well I'm not sure why, but if she wants to come that badly she's welcome. I doubt it will be that exciting."

"It will be for her. God that girl is such a tsundere." Tim laughed.

"What is a _soon-day-ray?"_ Bruce asked, his brow furrowing.

"Look it up, you'll see what I mean." Bruce shrugged before waving farewell to the boy and driving away. He had other things on his mind, but he made mental note to look this term up later. Come to think of it, it seemed like he _had_ heard the term somewhere before... But couldn't for the life of him remember where. Regardless, there were more pressing matters... For example, why _had_ he insisted on a trip to a location that he had stringently avoided in order to check in on a project that he had ardently washed his hands of? Given his initial reason for doing so, he didn't particularly like where _any_ logical train was leading in this case. He opted to chalk it up to a fluke of mood, rather than read any deeper meaning into it. Doing any more than this would simply add unneeded worry, and the conflicting thoughts and emotions were liable to result in a sort of mental constipation; and that was something he _definitely_ didn't need today. "After all," he thought as he sped down the road. "I'm likely in for a long night tonight..."

* * *

"Ah Mr. Wayne! Welcome!" The current guard on staff, a man by the name of Vasquez exclaimed, his hand moving to raise the bar and grant him access to WayneTec grounds.

"Hold!" Bruce commanded loudly. "You know the proper procedure."

"Uh, of course sir! I just thought-"

"It doesn't matter who I am." Bruce declared. "The rules apply to everyone."

"I... Of course sir." Vasquez conceded abashedly. "May I see your ID?"

"No problem." Bruce said, offering his company identification to the guard, who in turn made show of examining it for several seconds.

"Thank you." Vasquez said, handing Bruce back his ID. "Could you please pull over here and exit your vehicle?" He requested, indicating a secured area to the right. Bruce dutifully drove over to one of four open slots and killed the engine before exiting the car. Following further instructions from Vasquez, he waited inside a small, marked square on the pavement... Which he happened to know placed him in the crosshairs of a sniper. The next three minuets were spent this was as Vasquez and another guard who's name he didn't know led a well-trained bomb-sniffing dog in a thorough search of his vehicle. Previously Bruce had been satisfied with regular sweeps of the parking lot, but after two attempted bombings he'd decided to ratchet security up even farther... A move that sat surprisingly well with his employees.

"Alright, please place your feet on the yellow marks and hold your arms out." The other guard instructed. Bruce complied, standing spread-eagle and waited patiently as the man ran a metal detector over him. It went off as it crossed the left side of his torso. Without a word, the man patted him down, feeling the firearm he had holstered. A quick glance at his company ID verified that he was permitted (as were a significant number of his employees) to carry concealed on the premise.

"All finished. Thank you for your patience Mr. Wayne."

"Not at all, thank you for what you do." Bruce said, perfectly sincere in his thanks. He opened the car door but paused, his ear catching a new sound on the wind. "What's that noise? It sounds like a crowd of some sort."

"You can hear that over the traffic? Wow." Vasquez exclaimed. "It's the protest on the main side. Dumb bast- I mean, _the demonstrators_ are still there. I think they want to be here for your interview."

"Protest? Over what?" Bruce asked, slightly shocked. He couldn't' believe that no one had bothered to let him know that this was going on. How long had they been here? An hour? Two?

"Come on in. I'll pull the feed up and you can see for yourself." Vasquez offered with a congenial wave. As Bruce followed him into the security post, he pulled out his phone and was unpleasantly surprised to see that he had two missed calls and three text messages... Once call from Lucius and Deirdre each, and two messages from the former. It seemed that they _had_ attempted to call him... And that his pocket had decided that he didn't need this information and silenced his phone for him. "Damn smartphones..." He muttered darkly.

"Here, here's a few good shots." His guide said, indicating a couple of screens. Bruce peered at the angry masses congregating about the complex's main gates and sighed in disgust.

"Alright, let's see here... Nazi nazi nazi, guns are murder. We make body armor people, not guns. Please try to keep up. Bruce Wayne is Hitler... That man seems to have been reincarnated a lot lately, hasn't he?" He said, hamming it up for the guard's benefit. The two guards snickered and nodded as Bruce continued his scan. "Wane is a White Supremacist? Right, that's why the head of my company is black. It's a white, patriarchal trick to dupe you into thinking I'm not racist. That reminds me Vasquez, I'm going to need you to go hang yourself." The guards laughed out loud at that, what little tension had remained from having to search their boss vanishing in an instant. "What is this? Big Pharma killers? Oh Jesus..." Bruce facepalmed. "Medical equipment! We make medical equipment! And medical supplements I suppose, but we're not pill-poppers! Was a quick Google search before they did this just too much to ask?"

"I dunno boss, when you've got your panties in a twist, sometimes ya just can't wait. The world must know." Vasquez jeered.

"Right." Bruce snorted. "Well you two keep on your toes." He instructed them pointedly "Someone could try to use this as a distraction."

"Understood sir!" They replied in unison. Bruce nodded to them and got in the car, leaving the booth and its occupants behind. Less than three minuets later he was walking though a pair heavy, automatic doors and crossing the threshold into WayneTec. As always he felt a moment of wistful sentimentality as he entered the rear foyer. He had changed much, remodeled and expanded the facilities three-fold since his father's death, but had left this room virtually untouched. Too sweet were the memories; the rush of excitement he would feel each and every time he entered this building with his father, knowing that someday he would be taking the reins and never dreaming in his darkest nightmares that the day would come so early.

"Dad, what's that?" He had asked his first time in the building, pointing to the WaynTec symbol that was sill inlaid into the marble floor.

"Well, obviously the W is for Wayne." His father explained. "And that thing next to it, the thing that looks like a 'T' for 'Technology'? That's called a caduceus. It's an ancient symbol for medicine, healing and protection. And that's what we do here at WayneTec. We heal, we protect. The world can be a frightening and dangerous place Bruce... But as long as there are people like us, people who heal the sick and shield the innocent, it can be a wonderful place too."

"People like you!" Bruce exclaimed, proudly pointing to his father. Thomas laughed, taking a knee next to his son.

"Yes. And someday, you'll be one of those people too. It's in our blood." He declared with a playful poke at his son's nose.

"Mr. Wayne?" The receptionist, an older gentleman by the name of Mr. Aubrey asked, pulling him back into the moment.

"Ah, I'm sorry. Spaced out there for a moment." He stated by way of explanation. Hew stepped forward, swiping his badge in order to pass through the rotating gate; cognizant as he did so of the highly attentive and well armed guard watching from the side. Bruce had outfitted all the security in the building with H&K MP7A2's, though he sincerely hoped that none of them would ever have to use them. As Bruce crossed through the metal-detecting arch, it buzzed loudly. He held his ID up as he opened his blazer and revealed his sidearm, an Armatix iP2 9mm; chosen for its unparalleled safety functions.

"Have a good day sir!" Mr. Aubrey said with a broad smile.

"You as well." He replied with a wave both to the old man and the ever watchful guard. He made a quick stop into their employee gift/snack shop, then took the elevator straight up to his office floor. The room was a bustle with activity, even more so than usual it seemed. And he had a hunch that it had something to do with the mob visible through the right wall. The whole front of the building was in fact glass, though nothing short of a powerful explosive or an artillery shot would be capable of piercing this particular grade.

"Ah, Bruce!" Lucius exclaimed from across the room as he marched forward with the diminutive Deirdre in tow. "I'm glad you're here. Did you get my message?"

"A little late I'm afraid, but yes." Bruce replied. "But first: For the gentleman," He said, presenting Lucius with a bottle of Barefoot wine from the gift-shop, sweet and red. It was a cheap brand, but he knew it was the man's favorite. "Why thank you!" Lucius exclaimed with a broad smile. "And for the lady." He finished, presenting Deirdre with a bouquet of Tiger Lilies, white with deep pink centers. "T-thanks!" she stammered, accepting the gift with a modest blush. The remaining darkness from this morning seemed to fade away as he saw the joy this simple gesture had brought to his colleges, and for the first time today Bruce felt genuinely at ease.

"Now, to business." Bruce said, briskly ribbing his hands together. "Those people out there, are they causing a problem?"

"Aside from being an eyesore, no." Lucius replied contemptuously. "I've increased security just in case, but think it's just a publicity stunt. What I find more interesting is who hired them. This isn't an organic protest."

"Few are these days. Let's see what you have." Lucius handed his phone over to Bruce, who scrolled through the messages that had been left up on the screen.

"Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot..." Bruce whispered. Somehow, this didn't surprise him in the least.

"So I guess being the head of FEMA wasn't enough for the man? He has to meddle in local politics now?" Lucius asked scornfully as he took his phone back and pocketed it.

"Our families go a long way back. This is likely nothing but the typical petty nonsense that comes from old feuds, even if the feuds are rather one-sided." Bruce answered, hoping that this was the case. He was fairly confident that Cobblepot had no inkling as to his vigilante alter-ego, but it might pay to put out some feelers. Maybe things had changed.

"Anyway, that's not actually why I called you in like this. I do actually have some good news."

"Right, let's head into my office." Bruce gestured to the door on the far left. As the filed into the room and shut the door, Deirdre raised her hand, reminding Bruce comically of a kid in a high-school class.

"Before we start, I have a quick question." She declared. "Do I really have to wear this thing?" She asked, pointing to her shirt, though Bruce was pretty sure she was referring to the concealed tactical vest he had forced her to wear beneath it. "It's tight, hot and itchy."

"Yes, you do." He flatly retorted. "You're my secretary, and seriously cute on top of that. Some people will naturally believe that we are involved with each other and given the current environment, that could be dangerous."

"I-I, Um... Ok." She squeaked bashfully whilst blushing to the roots of her hair.

"Now, what's this grand news?" Bruce inquired as he settled into his seat.

"Last night, I was contacted by a one Toyotomi Touma from Japan's National Hospital Organization with a proposal for you." Lucius explained, taking the seat opposite his employer.

"Toyotomi? A preeminent name to be sure."

"Indeed, he's a rather high-ranking official in the organization... Very near the top in fact." Lucius continued. "He informed me that he is most impressed with our work and products, and is attempting to convince his colleagues to make us their exclusive, sole provider of imported medical technology and health-care supplements for the organization." Bruce let out a low whistle, noting the Deirdre was fidgeting excitedly in her seat, clearly unable to contain her glee at the prospect.

"I'm sure I don't have to tell you that such an exclusive slot could earn the company over a billion in flat profits in the first year alone."

" _Easily."_ Lucius agreed with a grin. "However, he is meeting with some resistance. He stated that, as our ally in this, increasing our goodwill with the company could go a long way towards securing the position. His hope is to have them convinced by second quarter this year, allowing you to visit them in the third quarter and leaving the fourth for preparations."

"And naturally if he is credited with such a large shift and it works out well, he'll be poised to seize the top slot... Which is something I can respect; nothing ventured nothing gained and all that. Obviously if you're bringing this to my attention, you've already made sure that this offer is legitimate." Bruce mused aloud.

"Naturally."

"And it's just as obvious that we can't allow word of this to get out... The last thing we need is even _more_ violent competition. But what can we offer them that no one else can? Something especially valuable to them..." Bruce pondered this quandary for several moments before shaking a finger in triumph. "I've got it. The people of Japan suffer from anemia at remarkably higher than average rates against the global population at large... And I do believe that we have a new supplement prepared for release to treat just that issue in several possible variations."

"Yes... Omniglobin." Lucius muttered, his smile widening. "It's set to roll out third quarter, in preparation for the colder months."

"What say we have an exclusive early release for our friends at the NHO? Getting it a quarter early and at a twelve-percent discount should win us some support, wouldn't you say?"

"I do believe it would." Lucius agreed with a nod. "I'll see to it myself."

"As will I." Bruce said, rising to his feet. The other two followed suit and Deirdre gave a tiny, excited squeal as she did. Realizing what she had done she blushed again and seemed to collapse in on herself like a turtle retreating into its shell.

"I love how excited she gets about these things." Bruce teased, causing her to retreat even farther.

"Oh don't tease the poor thing."

"It's alright." He countered as he playfully tussled her hair. "She's our little cheer-leader, and things just wouldn't be the same without her. Which reminds me, how are things with the grandkids?"

"Oh excellently as always!" Lucius said with a grand gesture. "Those little monkeys are the best. You remember Erick right?"

"The one who _literally_ wanted a hippopotamus for Christmas? How could I forget?"

"Well, he's turning six at the end of July and I thought I'd do something a little special for him this year and take him to the Museum of Natural History in DC."

"Will the other rugrats be able to handle it?" Bruce laughed. "His friends might not be up to a museum trip."

"Bah, the kid party will be the day after. This will be an outing just for the two of us. And I'll confess some enthusiasm for the subject myself. It's been a long time since I visited, and he comes by his love of wildlife honestly. But it'll be a whole nother thing going with my grandson." He stated, his eyes shimmering with wistful enthusiasm.

"Well he couldn't have a better grandfather to share it with." Bruce said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "Anyway," He continued glancing at his watch. "I need to head over to the media room for this interview." And with that they each went their separate ways. As Bruce was leaving, he noticed Deirdre out of the corner of his eye happily smelling the flowers he had given her. Smiling again, he entered the elevator and pushed the button sending him down a few floors. Now for the second worst part of his day... Honestly, he'd rather be stabbed than do an interview like this. But it was too late now. After all, he'd chosen to go into the public sector... Now it was time to swim or drown.

* * *

"Welcome back ladies and gentlemen, we are live on Urban Inquiry! Today we will again be interviewing Gotham's Prince, Mr. Bruce Wayne!" Vicki Vale announced to the camera and the small crowd that sat across from them. Bruce had added this room years ago for the sole purpose of handling televised interviews like this... A task which he was usually able to delegate to someone else.

"Gotham's Prince? Oh brother..." He murmured, eliciting a laugh from the audience.

"Well, one can't pick their nicknames." She replied with a laugh. He was a little tempted to inform her that he _could_ and in fact _had,_ but he let the comment slide. "Anyway, since your impassioned speech at the New Year's celebration there have been many interviews regarding your policies, but today I'd like to focus a little more on your personal life."

"Ah, my favorite subject." Bruce stated, his smile belying the sarcasm in his voice.

"First, we're all wondering... Will you and the lovely Ms. Kulahian be tying the knot before or after the end of your campaign?" The people reacted with the expected hoots and giggles, almost as if scripted. Most days he might have gotten a at least a chuckle out of it. Today, however, was not one of those days.

"Yeah... Actually we broke up this morning."

"Oh God, I'm... I'm sorry, I had no idea." Ms. Vale stammered in apology, though Bruce waved her concerns aside with a dismissive gesture.

"It's alright, there was no way you could have known." He reassured her. "I was actually the one who ended it... For a number of reasons, though one of them was infidelity on her part."

"She cheated? _On you?!_ Did she take a blow to the head something?"

"No, but Lord knows it was tempting." Even Ms. Vale laughed at that, visibly relaxing.

"So, moving onward... How has this campaign affected your personal life thus far? Any changes worth noting?"

"Well," he began. "In some ways it's been a huge blessing. I've had this horrible addiction called 'sleep', and since I began running I've been able to go cold turkey!" More laughter. "Seriously though, it has been a jarring change for me. The political world has a great many parallels in the business world, but the differences are multifarious and stark. And I have to say that I owe a debt of gratitude to my friends both high and low for helping my stay in touch with the hopes and fears of the regular citizens of Massachusetts. I truly hope that I can serve the people well, and that requires me to be in touch on a level that might not be possible for me normally, given my life of wealth and ease." Of course he was actually all too familiar with the very darkest corners of the human condition, but she didn't need to know that. The bit about his friends, however, had been absolutely true. Bane in particular had been very helpful in keeping an ear to the streets for him; he'd have to remember to thank the man later that evening.

"And do you worry that your platform is a little too radical for you to win?" Vale asked with a cocked eyebrow. Before Bruce could respond, his phone chimed loudly.

"Sorry, I cranked the volume up after missing a couple of important notifications earlier." He apologized as he pulled his phone out and glanced at it. The message was from Stephanie, and it was a short one. "Just got word: Quinn will be released on May 19th. Happy Mother's Day eh?" May nineteenth... Suddenly it seemed right around the corner, and he was no longer entirely sure of his course of action...

"Is it an emergency?" The reporter asked.

"No, it's nothing. As I was saying, we have been seeing a massive shift in culture over the past couple of years, with the people leaning ever farther right... So far in fact that we're almost centered again." Bruce told the room, his statement receiving a fair number of guffaws and snickers. "That said, of course the thought has crossed my mind... But honestly, I have no doubt that sooner or later, I _will_ win. From my point of view the future of my people is at stake, and with those kinds of stakes failure is simply not an option."

"Well you _do_ seem like the sort of man who gets what he wants." Vale smiled coyly. "Which brings us down from politics back to where we should be for this interview. I'm a little curious, what _is_ your ideal type Mr. Wayne? Of woman that is."

"Really? We're going there?" He laughed.

"Yes, we're going there." She insisted.

"Fine: blonde hair, blue eyes and busty."

"Well... Mr. Wayne..." She said, lowering her eyes demurely as the audience roared with laughter. Bruce chortled too as he waved her implication away.

"Don't worry about it, I was talking about someone else." Bruce's breath caught as his eyes widened in shock. What the _fuck_ had he just said?!

"Oh _really?_ And would you be referring to anyone in particular?

"No, no I would not!" He denied vehemently. "I have no idea where that came from! Please don't quote me on that because I have no explanation!"

"Alright alright!" She gave in as they both laughed. "But what about personality wise?

"Well, she'd... Well..." To his surprise, he found himself grasping for answers that eluded him. "I guess I'm not really sure. I suppose that's why I'm still single." The room was deathly still as they awaited his next words, no one daring to interrupt. "I suppose she'd have to be kind, and intelligent. Someone who's generally fun to talk to or just be around. And strong. Someone who can keep up with me when times get tough, but relax and enjoy the moments in-between. Someone who wants to make the world a brighter, better place like I do... And someone who will love me with every scrap and shred of their soul, just like I would love them."

"Well, based on what you said before she sounds like a one-in-a-million kind of girl." Vale said quietly.

"Yeah, I guess so." He chuckled, doing his best to focus on the interview and not the thoughts and images that rose unbidden to his mind.

"And finally, how would you say the work of your company is reflective of your personality? Or is it at all?"

"Oh absolutely." He assured her. "In a highly competitive market, WayneTec remains the world's premiere manufacturers of medical equipment, supplying hospitals and from Gotham to Tokyo and from Moscow to Cape Town. In addition to that, I pioneered our ventures into homeopathic-based medical supplements... Herbs in a capsule if you will. Our medicine is carefully tested and evaluated to provide equal if not better aid to any pharmaceuticals on the market with less than _one-tenth_ the side effects. Veering off from that, we also manufacture the very best body armor in the world, and have maintained a consistent policy of selling openly to both governments and civilians alike. Here at WayneTec, we believe that _every_ life is precious, worthy of healing and protection. And finally we have various other investments and projects, but none that I am more proud of than the Wayne Foundation, which has provided a home to over _three-hundred million_ orphans around the globe since it's inception twenty-two years ago. Likewise, I am wholeheartedly devoted in my personal life to providing a happier, brighter future for the world, and especially for the people of my beloved home right here in Gotham City. I live it, _breath it._ The love I have for my fellow man is reflected in _every facet_ of my company. Would you care to know my favorite classical quote?"

"By all means." Ms. Vale responded happily.

"Mankind was my business. The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, benevolence were all my my business." The crowed continued to sit in silence, almost in awe. Bruce took a deep breath and continued. "And so it goes without saying that I am eternally grateful to have been born into a position where I can make the common welfare of humanity my business."

"So, you and the Batman would get along rather well." She said with a smirk. The tension broke and everyone laughed, including Bruce.

"Oh I don't know about that. Men like him can save the world. As long as I can make it a little happier, I'm content. After all..." His voice died to almost a whisper as the toyed with his signet ring, gazing at the crest it bore: A stylized knight's helm, flanked on either side with cascading feathers; and beneath that a shield bearing three gauntlet-clad hands, palms open as if to render aid or offer a gift. "After all, as a great man once said : 'It's in our blood."

"Well thank you very much for your time Mr. Wayne." Vale thanked him, bringing a close to the interview. "Be sure to join us next time when we will be speaking with Miia Tanith about her new bestselling book 'Carnivore Cooking', the first all-meat based recipe book to top the charts in... Well, ever as far as I'm aware." There was another ripple of laughter at that as she held up a copy of the book, the cover featuring a lovely redhead laboring lovingly over a gigantic, juicy roast. "And as always this was Urban Inquiry and I'm Vicki Vale! Until next time!"

"And... Cut!" Came the call from her cameraman. She immediately cracked her neck a couple of times, causing even Bruce to grimace at the sound.

"We need better chairs?" He guessed.

"No, the chair is fine." She assured him. "I just slept on it wrong last night. Anyway, thanks for taking the time for me." She said as the both stood.

"It's always a pleasure Ms. Vale." He replied taking her hand and genteelly kissing it.

"Listen, I'm sorry if this comes off as totally tasteless..." She began with a sly smile. "But if pretty blondes really _are_ your type, you have my number."

"Thanks, but I think I'm done dating for a while." He told her wryly. "And by 'for a a while' I mean forever."

"Such a shame..." She whispered wit ha sultry smirk before turning to leave.

"Oh, Ms. Vale!" He called out to her as she walked away.

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For not focusing on the people out front that is."

"Well, they weren't saying anything worth giving the time of day. Besides," She sniffed disdainfully. "Those people were bribed to be there anyway. I'm a journalist, and real journalists aren't for sale." And with that, she turned and exited the stage. Bruce left as well and mentally prepared himself for a very long day in the office. Though he disliked office work, but it was still much better than fighting...

* * *

Bruce shivered, the moister-wicking interior of his tactical suit cold against his skin as he donned it in preparation for this evening's meeting. The Kevlar shell seemed to groan as he worked the joints, particularly his gauntlets which were especially prone to stiffening. He sighed, relaxing as he zipped up the front and reinforced it with straps before attaching the overly-muscular front plate that blended almost seamlessly with the base suit. Next went his utility belt, which now bore a sidearm in addition to the regular lineup of tools and less-lethal weapons. This time he had gone with the H&K MP7A-2, attaching it to both the belt and his right thigh. As he strapped the weapon on, he made a mental note to load one of his M1400EM's into the APCV before he left, just in case his enemies gathered in numbers too great for even him to handle non-lethally; or in case someone marked for execution made an appearance. Then came the cloak, and tonight he opted for his newest model, woven from Quantum Stealth Fabric. Useless for gliding, but unparalleled in stealth capabilities. It snapped firmly about his shoulders, a mechanism that ensured that nothing but a mighty wrench would dislodge it, yet also ensured that he couldn't be dragged by it. And then, at last came the cowl: Firm and claustrophobic as the first day he had donned it, pressing down on him like the identity that he loved and hated; that he couldn't wait to be rid of but knew he would miss.

"Just a few more months..." He whispered to his reflection. The weight of his sins would always be with him of course; it had been him and not his armor that had caused so much suffering and death... But he still couldn't help but feel that he would breath a sigh of relief the day he laid the Batman to rest for good. Once he was satisfied that all was in order, he tapped into a heavily encrypted frequency that only he and a few others knew as he made his way toward the weapon racks.

"Yes, you can come. Use the entrance in the mansion, Alfred will let you in." He said as he pulled the M1400EM off the rack and snapped in one of the nearby magazines.

"... How did you know I was here?" Helena's voice inquired testily through the speakers.

"I'm Batman." He replied, his retort sharply punctuated as he chambered a round into the rifle. He loaded the weapon in his vehicle and was joined a few minuets later by Helena, dressed head to toe as the vigilante "Huntress"; with her sleek, black Kevlar suit, fiercely angular mask and a few key "windows" in her ensemble that Bruce strongly advised against on the basis of safety, but which he had to admit made for a sexy and intimidating visage.

"For the record, I'm only coming because I heard there might be blood tonight." She explained in her usual hostile tone.

"Whatever. Get in." Came his equally terse, deeply modulated response. He'd learned years ago that no matter who she was in public, when Helena shifted to Huntress she transformed almost into a crazed animal, which suited him just fine. They entered the vehicle together and moments later were hurtling down the road to Gotham, and to a well-fortified collection of warehouses in particular.

When they reached the gates to the compound, a voice came in through the intercom next to him.

"Quien es?" The voice asked.

"You know who I am. I have an appointment."

"Ah, of course Batman." Came the polite reply. Rain began to pour heavily from the sky as the gate opened, pounding like a thousand enraged fists on the roof of the vehicle as they sped through the gate and headed for Warehouse Seven. At first glance the security seemed absurdly simple, but Bruce knew for a fact that there were numerous automated weapon systems guarding the compound, as well as several snipers ensuring that the "human element" was equally as watchful.

Upon arriving the at the proper warehouse, the massive front doors split open, admitting them into the high-vaulted shelter.

"Ah, Batman!" Bane announced grandly as Bruce exited the APCV, foregoing the use of his brother's proper name due to the dozen or so mercenaries that surrounded him. "Ah... And the fetching Huntress!" He declared, following with a loud whistle.

"Fuck off Bane." She growled. The laughter that arose from the mercenaries was quickly silenced by the look that Bane shot them, a look that bespoke biblical levels of violence.

"How go the weapon shipments?" Bruce asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter. All of Bane's men knew at this point that they were fast friends, but it wouldn't do to appear _too_ unprofessional.

"Very well, very well! Two important things happen yesterday that you should know. Well, you already know that I deliver the beacon with this shipment, yes?"

"You said as much." Bruce replied patiently. In combat Bane never missed a beat, but when having a friendly conversation the man had a tendency to beat about the bush.

"My man Luis here heard something he definitely should not have when he dropped off the shipment. Tell him what you heard."

Of course." Came the reply from a short, thickly muscled man to Bruce's right. "I was watching them unload the crates at the agreed upon location, talking with their leader. I made some comment about lent, I don't remember what. Then a man, I think it was the leader's little brother, said 'The Kuffar will be giving up much more than meat for lent this year!' I could tell from the way his brother looked at him that he shouldn't have said that. After that they ignored the comment, pretended he had said nothing."

"The first of lent is tomorrow!" Helena blurted, her voice laced with the same worry that was welling up like a geyser within Bruce. It was already eleven-PM, they had almost no time to prevent the terrorist attack. Bruce silently cursed and thanked the Gods for the timing, realizing that if Bane hadn't taken the initiative and sent the beacon after a mere month of being their dealer, they would be dead in the water. That said, he fervently wished that it had taken less time to gain their good graces.

"Wait! Bane called out as the pair turned away, preparing to rush back into their vehicle. "Come, look at the screen." They reluctantly followed him, giving him the benefit of the doubt. "See here? Ever since I heard the news I have watched the tracker like a hawk. It is sensitive to within five feet, and it hasn't moved a bit since they dropped off their cargo." Bruce grunted, satisfied but still eager to move. He checked the digital map that was sitting on the laptop's screen, recognizing the location in an instant.

"This is in the narrows. I expected as much." He thought aloud. Most of the city's Muslim immigrant population was located there, so this came as no surprise.

"Yes, and here is the tracker you loaned me." Bane said, handing the device to Bruce but holding fast as he attempted to take it. "By the way," he whispered. "I saw your interview today. I am sorry about your woman."

"Thanks, but I'll live." He whispered in return.

"You had better. There is about a dozen of them, but there is something else you should know about these people... The have Zsasz with them."

"Good. Then I'll put an end to him tonight." Bruce muttered.

"Of that I have no doubt!" Bane exclaimed, his usual volume returning. "And you take care as well, you should be in good shape for our date tomorrow!" He continued, turning his attention to Helena.

"E-excuse me?" She stuttered, totally flabbergasted. Bane grinned and flashed a pair of tickets at her before laying them down on the table.

"Two for the ballet tomorrow! I will meet you there at seven!" Bruce rolled his eyes. This had been going on for about a year with little to no progress. His bother had many virtues but subtlety wasn't one of them. Though it spoke volumes that he had ferreted out her weakness for the subject, and even more that he was willing to attend a ballet of all things; Bane at a ballet was something Bruce would happily pay ten times the admission cost to see. Though now that he thought about it, that brashness might actually give him an edge in this case...

"I'd rather have my tongue nailed to this table." Came her falsely urbane reply, which was in turn quickly overshadowed by the howls of laughter. Hmm, evidently not.

"Come on, we have work to do." Bruce told the irate young woman. He then turned and marched away without a backwards glance, settling into his vehicle and being joined by Helena a moment later. The last thing he saw of the warehouses was Bane mock-saluting him as he reversed quickly, pulling into a tight left turn before speeding off into the stormy night.

* * *

"Alright, let's pack it up for the night!" Bane shouted. As his men began their quick and efficient work, he sighed dejectedly. He'd never had any trouble winning over women before but this Huntress, Helena, was a tough nut to crack... And the more difficult the task proved to be, the more inflamed his passion for her became. If only-

He froze, his thoughts halting like car encountering a thick tree as his gaze fell upon the tickets he had left on the table... Or more properly "the ticket". Singular. One of them had vanished.

Bane laughed loudly, reveling in his victory as he turned to assist with the lockdown. Tonight was a good night indeed...

* * *

"Something's wrong." Bruce muttered as he gazed on the building the locator had drawn them too. It was a dilapidated old duplex, complete with boarded windows. It was a sad relic of a more prosperous time... Only it seemed now to be far too quiet for the center of an imminent terrorist plot. No vehicle, no lights, no bodies, no sounds of any sort emitted from the squalid edifice.

"I agree." Helena whispered beside him. "So, how do you want to play this?" Bruce pulled out a custom pair of goggles from his belt, strapped them about his head and set them to read thermal signatures before examining the structure. After a moment, he swore sourly under his breath.

"Straight through the front door. It's _fucking empty."_ He reached up and toggled the mode to night-vision in preparation for their entry.

" _Shit!"_ She swore. "Alright, I'll go first." With that they crept through the long shadows, through the pouring rain and up to the front porch. Bruce couldn't help but note as they closed the distance to the front door that the garage was facing backwards, away from the front of the house. Intriguing. He wondered briefly if this was some sort of mistake, or if the layout of the neighborhood had necessitated the change. Once they reached the door, they slid up close to the wall, each of them taking a side. Helena pulled out a small scope similar in function to his goggles and peered at, and likely through, the door with it.

"Some kind of of trap on the other side. Not explosive, some kind of crude booby-trap. I guess they saved all the good stuff for themselves."

"Alright, you take point." He ordered. She nodded, then attached a small explosive to the door, turning away slightly as it detonated and blew the door open. Bruce heard a dull twang as whatever trap was on the other side activated. After a second they peered in, and Helena snorted it disgust.

"An ax? Really? Looks like they bought this shit at the hardware store." The house was a mess of used fast food bags, haphazardly strewn clothing and and other sundry pieces of rotting garbage. Bruce's nose crinkled in revulsion as he and Helena entered the dim abode, feeling his disdain for these people grow even as they made a bee-line for what seemed to be the garage door. Even for a place in the narrows, this place was a pig-sty. All the other, decent Muslim homes he'd visited in Gotham had been immaculate, or at least average. Though if this were a decent lot, he supposed that he wouldn't be here in the first place.

"I've got this one." He told his partner as he switched his lenses to penetration mode and gazed through the door. The technology was still crude, but it was effective enough to detect traps in situations like this with over ninety-five percent accuracy. A quick scan of the door showed his what he expected: They hadn't bothered with a trap on this one.

"It's clear." He announced before kicking the door clean off it's hinges, the sudden burst of violence more than a little cathartic... But not nearly enough to overcome the burst of frustration that followed upon seeing what awaited them.

" _Shit!"_ Helena swore, and Bruce had to agree. The room was totally empty but for a single item left behind: The beacon, sitting all alone on the cold concrete floor. Bruce approached the beacon, his anger too great for words. With a sudden motion he crushed the delicate device beneath his boot, grinding it into powder.

"Bane is excellent at hiding these things... Whoever we are dealing with here must also be very skilled." He whispered, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "We need to call for backup on this. I know Clarke and Barry aren't available, so that leaves us Dick, Tim and Stephanie. Barbra can hack into some of the cameras around town and provide support. We'll send Dick to St. Vincent's, Tim and Stephanie to the Hawker Mall. You and I will head to St. George's Cathedral, as that's where the largest Ash Wednesday Mass takes place."

"Assuming that's what they are after! They could be going for theaters or stores or parks, and there are hundreds of churches that-"

"You think I don't know that?!" Bruce roared. To her credit she didn't shrink from him, but she was visibly taken aback and fully aware that she'd crossed the line. "This is the best chance we have, and we'll search all night if we must!"

"And if we can't find them?" She asked quietly.

"Then a lot of innocent people die. That's life." He snapped, his heartless tone masking his own worry. Still, he was amazed that she could still ask such things. She knew the score. "You should know by now that the good guys lose as often as the bad guys... If not more." Thoroughly chastised, she nodded and turned away as he pulled out his side-arm and fired a burst at the garage-door's chain, severing it and releasing the lock. Two paces later he was gripping the bottom of the door and easily tossing it upwards onto the track. Outside, a set of tire-tracks were cut deeply into the mud. Bruce crouched next to them, closely examining the the markings. It looked like at least two vehicle had left from this location, and recently at that.

"These are fresh." He announced. "Very fresh. It's been raining for less than an hour, and there is very little erosion. I'd guess that we missed them by less than twenty minuets." He stood and raised his hand to the side of his cowl, tapping into the emergency broadcast frequency. He sent a quick pulse, a signal that would beep loudly before he spoke.

"Attention! This is an emergency and I need all hands on deck!" He called out loudly though his cowl's built in microphone.

"W-what is it?" Dick asked breathlessly as he panted heavily into his mic.

"This about that thing with Bane?" Tim inquired alertly.

"I-I'm here." Stephanie groaned, clearly having been roused from a deep sleep. Bruce briefly prayed that she had turned down her radio after the last incident with her foster parents, but given how quickly she had been awakened he rather doubted it.

"The terrorists discovered Bane's beacon and are MIA with all their cargo. Estimated time of exit from this location is within the last twenty-minuets. We are looking for at least two vehicles, one of them carrying a lot of cargo. If we don't find them and/or their weapons by morning a lot of people are going to die. Nightwing, if Oracle can't hear me from there, tell her I need her in the roost with eyes on every camera she's got."

"Wait, how did you know-" There was a moment of feedback as Dick was divested of the radio.

"Got it." Barbara announced, sounding equally winded but just as alert. "I'll be there inside of fifteen minuets."

"Nightwing, I need you to check out St. Vincent's. If you see hostiles, call for back-up. Reports indicate between ten-and-twelve hostiles, including at least one with serious training and Victor Zsasz."

"Wonderful." Dick muttered sarcastically. "I'm on my way."

"Robin, Batgirl, I need you two to do a sweep of the Hawker Mall."

"On it!" They announced in unison.

"Huntress and I are heading to St. George's Cathedral. Team callsigns will be the usual based on team leaders. Alright people, let's get moving. If anyone spots our targets, be sure to report remember: Zsasz is marked for death. Don't hesitate to take him out because he certainly won't. Batman out." Bruce concluded, cutting the feed. "Let's go." The pair of vigilantes turned and rushed out, settling into their vehicle and pealing away in a spray of rainwater in seconds. Bruce was silent for the entire drive, his thoughts a riot of ineffectual self-defamation. He should have refused Bane's offer to talk longer, even though he knew that they still would have been too late. He should have come earlier, even though he had no reason to. He should have done this himself rather than relying on his brother, even though such joint operations had never gone sideways before. He shook his head, clearing the thoughts as he weaved in and out of traffic. What was done was done, and Monday-night quarterbacking wasn't going to change anything.

A few minuets later and he was turning into the nearest alleyway to the cathedral, two streets away. Bruce hit the switch to open the canopy and the pair practically flew out of the vehicle, the smart-system closing it behind them. Without a word, each of them pulled out their grapple guns and fired, the sharp tips piercing the brick of the roof above them and fastening via a set of powerful, multi-directional claws that splayed outwards and created a solid anchor point. Bruce hit the boost and the weapon's powerful fission engine yanked him into the sky, sending him hurtling through the air like a bat out of hell. Just before he reached the top he hit the release, dislodging the claw and allowing him to fly several feet above the roof. He flipped once and landed in a solid crouch with Helena landing next to him milliseconds later. Without missing a beat the two rushed forward through the sheeting rain to the opposite edge and leapt into the air, their capes unfurling behind them like giant wings as they soared through the air before landing on the opposite roof several meters away and rolling expertly to their feet. Before them and across the street towered the cathedral, its Gothic spires reaching magnificently into the darkened sky. As a flash of lightening illuminated the alabaster steeples and stained-glass windows, Bruce couldn't help but find the the images of St. George's martyrdom a little foreboding given their circumstances.

"Look there." Helena said, pointing to the Cathedrals parking lot. There was a pair of vehicles there: A truck and trailer combo and a run-down minivan. "And there." She continued, pointing again. "The door is slightly open.

"Good eyes." Bruce whispered, impressed that she could notice such slight variance from this distance. She smirked at her mentor's praise, but said nothing. "Let's get some confirmation." He switched his goggles briefly to infrared again and increased the magnification by four. Sure enough, the cathedral was awash with heat signatures. Bruce grinned a feral, predatory grin as he removed his goggles and placed them back in his belt, unwilling to risk being blinded by a random flash of light once the action started. "I count eleven hostiles. It's them alright."

"Excellent." Helena said with a grin every bit as fierce as his. "How do you want to do this?"

"I'll take point. You circle around back and join in once the shooting starts." Before she could utter a word his hand flew to his cowl, calling the rest of the team. "This Team Shinobi with an update: We've located the terrorists. They are at St. George's."

"Team Delphi acknowledged." Barbara answered, speaking for both herself and Dick. "Will you be needing back up?"

"Negative, all other teams are to stand by and await further updates."

"Team Sherwood acknowledged and standing by." Tim said, speaking for himself and Stephanie.

"By the way Batman," Stephanie added. "Tim spoke with the mayor earlier. She's on board."

"Good to know. Team Shinobi out." Bruce cut the feed and gazed at the cathedral, feeling his heart began to pound, blood and adrenalin surging through his veins. It was time to hunt.

"Back again huh? Don't think I can handle taking point?" Helena asked, her objection clear in her tone.

"No, I just don't feel like explaining to my brother why I used his idol as cannon-fodder." Bruce retorted. "Now enough chatter, it's time to move."

* * *

Yaman yawned, stretching his arms and fighting the fatigue that so desperately wanted to drag him down to sleep. They had already planted so many explosives, and yet were still less than half-way finished. Under the seats, in the pulpit, under the choir benches... They were running out of places to plant them, or so it seemed to him anyway. It would be a long night indeed... Not that he wasn't excited to be helping out of course. While it was true that he'd usually rather be playing Pokemon, his bother was in charge of this strike; and nothing brought him more joy than adventuring with his big brother.

His brother, Ammar, had always been the one to stand tall against the kuffar, even back in Syria. He'd fought the western devils in both Iraq and Afganistan before returning home to continue the fight in Syria. And now they were in the heart of Gotham, taking the fight to the kuffar in their own stinking lairs. For Ammar, this was a dream come true. For Yaman, he was just happy to be along for the ride. That said, he realized that he hadn't bothered to check the area for any Pokemon before they had started, and vaguely wondered if he'd have time to do so before they left...

A sudden sound caught his ear, bringing him to his feet in surprise. Someone was laughing, and it didn't sound like anyone he knew. Moments later the entire hall was filled with deep, hellish laughter, like the cackling of the devil himself; a laughter that seemed to come from everywhere at once. It was a sound as utterly devoid of humor as it was humanity, and Yamar could feel his blood turning to ice in his veins with every echo.

"Who is that?!" Amamr shouted into the shadows, shadows which now seemed to hold malevolence in every nook and corner.

" _Infidels!"_ The voice bellowed as the laughter ceased. _"Cowards! Pig-eating sons of whores! With every foul step you profane these hollowed halls! Now welcome the embrace of hell..._ _Death has come for you all!"_ Yamar was now quaking in his boots desperately wanting to run but too terrified to move a muscle. Then, before his very eyes, the impossible occurred.

He gazed in stark horror as the shadows, no, _the air itself_ tore open and what could only be a Jinn clawed its way out from the bowls of hell itself. It was massive, its skin the color of ash and shadow with its face twisted into a bloodthirsty grin. As it lunged forward, it seemed to gather the sundered air behind it into a flowing cloak of pure darkness. Yamar barely had time to scream before the creature's heavy fist filled his vision and the night embraced him.

* * *

" _Death has come for you all!"_ Bruce bellowed, using the cathedral's impressive acoustics in conjunction with his skills as a ventriloquist to magnificent effect. Deciding that he'd said enough, he wrenched open his Quantum Stealth Cloak, a move which anyone watching would have perceived as him appearing from thin air. He didn't waste a moment in lunging for the closest enemy, a young man of about nineteen. One solid blow to the face and he was down, allowing Bruce to spring to the next man. One down. His new target raised his AK to fire, but was precious seconds too late. Bruce parried the barrel aside with his left arm, his bladed gauntlet sending a short burst of sparks dancing into the air before his fist shot up and struck the man in the face, pivoting as he did in order to place himself behind his foe.

Another enemy opened fire, filling the air with an almost unimaginably loud clatter as the bullets struck his own comrade, who now stood between Bruce and the gunman. The man's body jerked and spasmed as fully half a magazine of ammunition was emptied into his thick torso. Two down. Bruce wrapped his left arm around the unlucky man's neck as his right hand took control of the rifle that had so recently been pointed at him. Human shields weren't normally his style, but there wasn't any point in avoiding it now; the man would be dead before he hit the floor. Using the corpse like a puppet, he forced it to fire upon its former allies, sending spray of hot lead wide and low, kicking up a shower of marble, wood and blood. The gunman and another terrorist cried out as blood spurted from their thoroughly perforated legs before collapsing to the ground, effectively out of commission for the moment. Four down. As Bruce dropped the body and leapt behind a nearby pillar to avoid the oncoming fire, noticed another figure joining the fray...

* * *

Helena sprang from the shadowy banister, reveling in the violence taking place beneath her as she entered the battle. On the way down she struck her first target, her heel connecting to the back of his skull with a sickening crunch. That made five. Two men nearby seemed to hear the disturbance and turned, rifles at the ready. But they were far, far too slow. The Huntress bounded forward, seizing their weapons by the barrels as she flipped forward, the momentum tearing the guns from their grasp as she landed behind them.

She retained one and released the other, sending it skidding down the center isle and across the marble floor as she pivoted to face the freshly disarmed men, swinging the rifle like a baton as she turned and sending the steel-plated butt crashing into the nearest man's face. She felt a rush of satisfaction as she watched his face distort, the cheekbones shattering under her assault. He collapsed to the floor, down for the count. That made six. His partner lunged at her, but she easily danced out of reach, flipping the rifle over as she did and firing a burst of five into the man's chest. His hot blood splattered her as the bullets struck; then he fell dead to the floor. Seven. She heard more gunfire and dropped; barely dodging the bullets that sailed over her and into the pulpit, which promptly exploded. A shower of splinters hit her as the shock-wave struck, flattening her against the ground and bouncing her skull off the cold floor. She lay there, dazed and helpless, expecting a bullet at any moment... Yet it never came. It was then that the sounds of combat coming from behind her reminding her pointedly that she wasn't alone in this fight. Batman had her back.

* * *

Bruce took advantage of the sudden explosion, using it as cover to emerge from the pillar next to one of the few remaining gunmen. He seized the man's barrel and thrusted it upwards, shattering his nose and stunning him. While his enemy was dazed, Bruce launched a kick at the side of his left knee and utterly destroyed it, the joint snapping outwards and bending the leg sideways. The man let out a brief cry before fainting; falling into the nearby pew as the pain overwhelmed him. Eight down. The last attacker that Bruce could see turned to face him and fired, forcing him to drop between the pews for cover as the bullets tore through the antique hardwood and showered him with splinters.

From this new vantage point Bruce spied a perfect opportunity to end this and drew his MP7, firing a burst of two rounds into the man's foot and blowing off half his right toes in a gruesome spurt of blood and bone. The gunman fell screaming to the floor, his face landing exactly where Bruce had intended. He fired off one more shot and hit a nearby rifle, the bullet ricocheting off and into a pew as the discarded weapon shot forward and struck the man in the face, knocking him unconscious. Nine down. Now, Bruce thought as he came to his feet, there should be just two-

"Don't move!" A man shouted as he rose from his hiding place between a pair of pews. It was the man who had called out to him before the fight began, and he was holding what looked for all the world like a custom detonator, his thumb planted firmly atop the button. Bruce took aim, but knew he couldn't risk firing. Even if he shot the man in the head, a twitch of the thumb would end them all. "If you move I will set them all off!"

"You do that and we're all dead." Bruce growled, his electronically modulated voice echoing in the suddenly almost silent hall as he faced the terrorist, locked in a stand-off.

"I am not afraid to die for Allah!" The man declared with a conviction that Bruce didn't doubt for a second.

"Fine, push it." He said flatly. "I just hope for your sake that Allah has changed his mind about sending people who destroy churches to hell." The man seemed to hesitate, his finger shifting unconsciously off the button... Which was _exactly_ what Bruce had been counting on. He fired, the bullet severing the man's index finger and sending the ruined detonator spinning off into the dark. The man screamed in agony and bent double, clutching his ruined hand close; but his cry was cut short as Bruce covered the distance in two great bounds and pistol-whipped him across the back of the skull. Ten down. Only one left...

"Well done! Bravo! Watching you work is almost as fun as working myself!" Bruce knew that nasally, mocking voice all to well.

"Zsasz." Bruce snarled, turning to face the maniac. He raised his weapon and took aim, only to see that Zsasz had a hostage. Helena was clutched tightly against him, clearly still dazed from the blast. She had reached up and gripped his arm, attempting fruitlessly to pull it and the long knife it held away from her throat. Cold fear gripped Bruce as he faced the pair who stood just before the church's altar, the three of them creating a horrifying tableau.

"I really do owe you Batman... Thanks to you, I can get four new marks tonight!" The maniac declared, referring to the scars that covered his half-naked body. A cut for every victim, and there were scores of them.

"Let me guess, the other two were the priests on duty here?" Bruce asked, stalling for time.

"Oh yes... They screamed so _loudly_ when I castrated them, like little girls! It was so..." He took a deep breath, shamelessly sniffing Helena's hair before breathing down her neck. "Erotic." He finished with a grin, his teeth filed to points in a manner that perfectly complimented his otherwise nightmarish visage.

" _Get off me you twisted fuck!"_ Helena spat with an anger belied by the fear in her eyes, struggling with renewed fervor. But Zsasz merely tightened his grip, forcing the point of the knife into her skin. A large drop of blood ran down her neck; and Zsasz licked it up, clearly relishing the taste. Helena whimpered, the fear beginning to take hold of her; a fact that only made her captor grin all the wider.

"Do you know what they did while I was cutting them? Besides screaming and bleeding that is?" He asked with a maniacal hoot that passed for laughter from him. "They kept praying to St. George? Isn't that funny? The saint that killed a monster to save a maiden... I guess heroes were made of stronger stuff back-"

A final deafening blast reverberated through the cold Cathedral air as Bruce fired. A small hole appeared right in the center of Zsasz's forehead in almost the same moment that the rear of his skull exploded in a shower of blood, bone and brains. His lifeless body fell backwards onto the altar as Helena tugged herself free and rushed to Bruce's side, pressing against him as she turned to face the slain monster. He lay upon the altar, stretched out like a sacrifice for the future of Gotham's people. Behind him stood a statue of St. George, the mighty hero once more bathed in the blood of the evil. As Bruce took in this scene, was surprised to find that he felt nothing. No welling of guilt, no surge of triumph. He felt all the emotion at ending this piece of human refuse that he would feel in taking out the trash... Which he supposed was exactly what he had just done.

"Come on." Bruce whispered, draping his left arm about Helena's shoulders as he holstered his weapon with his right. "Let's get you home."

"Yeah, let's go." She agreed, all the fight gone from her voice. They turned to leave, and Bruce noticed that he could hear sirens approaching through the storm. Gotham City PD was on the scene a few minuets later; but they were already long gone, speeding off into the night. As he drove through the torrential rain, Bruce tuned into the team's common frequency and delivered an update that he was sure would please everyone.

"This is Team Shinobi reporting in: The threat has been neutralized and Victor Zsasz killed. Go back to bed, or whatever you were doing before the mission, you've earned it."

"Alright!" Tim exclaimed with Stephanie echoing his sentiments. "Team Sherwood signing off!"

"Good riddance to bad garbage I say." Barbara said.

"Yeah, we should have done this _years_ ago." Dick agreed. "Team Delphi, over and out."

The car was quiet for several long minuets after the call, and Bruce would tell that Helena needed something to take her mind off her final brush with Zsasz. He couldn't blame her; while he felt nothing for Zsasz, he did feel a pang of guilt for the two other men who had been killed in the fight. Remembering Tim's offhand comment from this morning, he switched on the APCV's computer and spoke.

"Computer, look up Soon-day-ray definition."

"What the hell is a Soon-day-ray?" Helena asked.

"That's what I'm trying to find out." He replied. After a moment the computer answered.

"According to Wikipedia, Tsundere is a Japanese term for a character development process that describes a person who is initially cold and even hostile towards another person before gradually showing a warmer side over time." Bruce threw his head back and howled with laughter till his sides ached. It was just _too_ perfect.

"What?! What's so Goddamn funny?!" Helena demanded, punching him in the shoulder. But he just couldn't tell her, he didn't have the heart. Instead he ignored her pleas and playful beatings and laughed off and on all the way back to the Manor.

 **Author's Note:** Hey everyone, long time no see! I was on vacation over the holidays, but I'm back now and diving straight back into things... Let the adventure continue!


End file.
